


The Sea Will Rise

by Exaggerated_Specificity



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: 1990s, Action, Anal Sex, Angst, Bank Robbery, Barebacking, Bisexual Jared, Blow Jobs, Bottom Jensen, Deception, Dirty Talk, FBI agents, J2!AU, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Character Death, Point Break AU, RPF, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Skydiving, Surfing, Top Jared, Undercover, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 04:08:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 94,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2095149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exaggerated_Specificity/pseuds/Exaggerated_Specificity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rookie FBI agent Jensen Ackles is a former University of Texas quarterback with a blown knee and a chip on his shoulder.  He takes his first assignment in the Los Angeles robbery division where he and his veteran partner Jim Beaver investigate a notorious group of bank robbers that use masks of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles to disguise their real identities.  Jensen goes undercover to pursue Agent Beaver’s theory that the criminals are surfers and befriends the confident and fiery Danneel Harris who helps him learn the sport and infiltrate the tight-knit surf community.  She introduces him to Jared Padalecki and his vagabond surf tribe who are only in Cali for the summer. The brash agent and the enigmatic surfer find an instant connection, falling hard for one another against the backdrop of southern California’s sparkling coastlines, glass-green waves, and blazing sunsets.  Their passionate romance gives Jensen a new outlook on life but has him making some hard decisions when the charismatic adrenaline junkie he’s grown to love becomes the prime suspect in his case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Los Angeles, 1991

**Author's Note:**

> _**Disclaimer**_ : This work of fan fiction is an homage to the 1991 film _Point Break_ written by Kathryn Bigelow and James Cameron and directed by Kathryn Bigelow. It borrows some of the film’s dialogue to help my fictionalized versions Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles embody the characters that inspired this work. This work was not created for profit, is in no way based on reality, and is not intended to plagiarize the Kathryn Bigelow and James Cameron’s fantastic script. It was crafted out of pure love and adoration for Point Break and my eternal obsession with J2. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Master Post on LJ](http://gojyochan.livejournal.com/18296.html)
> 
>  
> 
> Soundtrack: [Spotify]() or [Grooveshark]()  
>   
>  **Notes and Thanks**
> 
> Music is as vital to the feel of this story as the imagery of Southern California. Please consider listening to the soundtrack as you read! The title is a line from 'Oceans' by Pearl Jam. If you have never seen Point Break please make it the first thing you do after you finish reading. It's a brilliant, fun movie and the chemistry between Patrick Swayze and Keanu Reeves is incredible (even if it's not as electric as J2's!).
> 
>  **Michelle** \- I could write a thank you as long as this fic for you, sweetheart! You have moved me to my core with your words more times than I can count and you constantly inspire me to be a better writer and person. Your passion is infectious and I don' t know if I would have even finished this beast if it wasn't for you. Thank you for understanding my self-doubt, listening to my troubled heart, and teaching me how to paint scenes with all five senses. I don't know what I did to deserve your friendship but you are my missing puzzle piece and I will love you always. My unicorn. My Magic.
> 
>  **Liz** \- you are such a skilled author and your dedication to these challenges motivates me on a daily basis. Thank you for putting up with my ridiculous insecurities and delays with this story. As always, your insights are invaluable and helped me refine this love letter to California into something I am truly proud of. I am so fortunate to have you as a friend, reader, and beta. I am so excited to meet you at Burcon!
> 
>  **Kelly** \- it was amazing to work with you again and I cannot thank you enough for taking my words and giving them colorful, brilliant, life! You're so talented and I'm happy this fic inspired you to create such beautiful artwork. I can't wait to meet you in November and I hope we can work together again soon. [Link to artwork](http://kaelysta.livejournal.com/69316.html)!
> 
>    
>  _Thank you to all my amazing readers and friends who encouraged me along the way. I hope you enjoy this story and that it tides you over while I go on a short hiatus to finish my degree. I'll be writing again in 2015!_

_“Ocean, if you were to give, a measure, a ferment, a fruit_  
of your gifts and destructions, into my hand,  
I would choose your far-off repose, your contour of steel,  
your vigilant spaces of air and darkness,  
and the power of your white tongue,  
that shatters and overthrows columns,  
breaking them down to your proper purity.”

_from ‘The Wide Ocean’ – by Pablo Neruda_

Jensen Ackles arrived in Los Angeles on a sunny Sunday afternoon in May.  His 1970 powder blue Mustang Mach 1 made the cross-country drive in record time and he managed to only stop twice to sleep at rest stops along the way.  It was Jensen’s first time going any further west than Juarez, where some college buddies dragged him for spring break his freshman year at UT, but he hadn’t left himself much time to indulge in exploration before his first day at his new job. 

 

He figured he knew enough about California anyway.  He’d seen plenty of movies with LA as a backdrop.  For example, everything was more expensive, especially the parking.  There was an abundance of sunshine, palm trees, and concrete with freeways stretching as far as the eye could see.  There was a constant haze of exhaust, even with the ocean breeze.  Beige sand, coconut oil on smooth tan skin, bleach blonde valley girls in neon pumps, expensive sports cars, and sushi bars – none of it was really his thing. 

 

LA was Jensen’s second chance.  He may not have been ready to call it home but he was going to do whatever he needed to make it work.  Part of him was homesick for Texas but it wasn’t really home any more than Quantico, Virginia where he sweated, studied, and trained at the FBI academy for the past year.  Sightseeing could wait.  Jensen needed to focus on getting this right.  His future depended on it.

 

His new apartment was on the south side of Santa Monica, right off the Pacific Coast Highway.   He rented it sight unseen through a rental company, a potentially risky move, but the pictures they faxed made it seem nice enough.  Thanks to his natural sense of direction, he located it easily, finding the key under the welcome mat exactly where his new landlord said she’d leave it.  She’d also let the movers in, as promised, and all his worldly belongings sat clumped together in the small living room.  The place was tiny, boxy and sterile but it would do.  It was certainly large enough to house his mattress and box spring, shabby hand-me-down sofa, tiny kitchen table, and the small collection of boxes he brought with him from school. 

 

When he headed down to Venice Beach for dinner that evening, it felt like he was on vacation, not about to take a coveted spot with the FBI’s Major Crime Unit.  He went for a run along the boardwalk, sprinting past girls in high-waisted shorts on roller skates, tourists in wide brimmed hats snapping photos of the sunset, locals walking dogs, and teens on skateboards.  It was more like a scene from a cheesy, decade old movie, not his actual life.  Lost in thought, he ran further than he intended and had thoroughly sweat soaked his heather grey t-shirt by the time he turned back.  He decided to spare the locals his post-run funk and grabbed some takeout from a Greek place on the corner.  He didn’t really mind that his first meal in LA was about to be eaten in his unpacked apartment, shirtless and sweaty on his couch. 

 

The next day was his first with the FBI and it was even more surreal than his first 12 hours in Cali had been.  The concrete and glass monolith that housed the Fed Unit on the corner of Wilshire and Veteran was imposing and cold.  Jensen channeled all of his former top-of-the-food-chain, prom-king, star-quarterback with a full-ride scholarship persona he could muster before stepping off the elevator.  He flashed his best smile at the receptionist, looking more like an aspiring actor than a rookie FBI agent on his first real assignment. 

 

“Agent J.D. Morgan please.  I’m Jensen Ackles.  He’s expecting me.” 

 

She eyed him a bit skeptically as she picked up the phone and punched in the extension.  She was probably convinced he’d gotten lost on the way to an audition with his freckle spattered cheekbones, superhero jaw, and sparkling green eyes.  In reality, Ackles was one hell of a new recruit.  He’d graduated at the top of his class from Quantico and was considered a real prize for the struggling robbery unit.  Agent Morgan didn’t keep him waiting long. 

 

“Agent Ackles.  I’m Supervising Agent J.D. Morgan.”  The man’s handshake was firm and he wore a severe scowl on his chiseled face. “Welcome to the team, son.  We’re happy to have you here.  Let me show you around.” 

 

Jensen’s new boss was in his mid 40’s with a confident stride, tanned skin and perfect hair.  He was GQ and aggressive with a distinct tinge of sarcasm in his tone that told Jensen Agent Morgan was going to rub him the wrong way.  Jensen gave J.D. a big, shit-eating grin anyway, following him past security onto the main floor of their division.   

 

“Eating solid breakfasts, Agent Ackles?”  Morgan said, not bothering to turn back to face Jensen as he spoke.

 

“Sir?” 

 

“Are you eating healthy?  Balanced diet, all the food groups?  Avoiding sugar?  Caffeine?  We stay off of hard liquor and cigarettes on my unit, is that clear?  I like my team at peak physical condition.  In fact, all of my agents are required to pass quarterly fitness exams.” 

 

Jensen held on to his poker face despite the intense desire to roll his eyes.  “Sir, I take the skin off chicken.” 

Morgan glanced back at him, eyes narrowing.

 

“Well, I’ll say this, Ackles.  Your scores are certainly impressive.”  Morgan flicked the manila folder he’d been skimming as they walked. 

 

Jensen nodded in acknowledgement of Agent Morgan’s praise as he surveyed his new workspace.  The floor was filled with rows of cramped desks, agents and analysts hunched over computer terminals under harsh fluorescent lights.  He heard the droning click-clack of fingers on keys, and the hum of copiers and fax machines.  It felt more like he had landed a job at IBM than with the FBI.  Morgan led the way through the cubicle maze to a glassed-in bullpen.  

 

“This is you, Ackles.  Bank Robbery.  And lucky you, we're in the bank robbery capital of the world.”  Morgan said, grimly. 

 

Jensen nodded and quipped back, “1,322 robberies last year in Los Angeles County.  Up twenty-six percent from the year before.” 

 

“That's right, Agent. I’m glad to hear you’ve done your homework.  We nailed over a thousand of the crooks, all by crunching data.  Solid crime-scene investigation.  Accurate lab work.  Good database analysis.  That’s what we do here.” 

 

Jensen nodded trying to keep his face stoic despite the obvious alpha male posturing from his new boss. 

 

“You may have been in the top two percent of your class at Quantico, Special Agent Ackles, but you have exactly zero hours in the field.  You know nothing.  Hell, you know _less_ than nothing.”  Morgan stepped closer, ignoring any concept of personal space, and jabbed his finger into Jensen’s sternum through his five dollar K-Mart tie.

 

“Truth is kid, your training at the academy counts for shit unless we can catch the bastards and get a conviction.  Too much hubris and no experience to back it up is the kind of shit that gets good agents hurt or worse.  Are you getting my signal, Agent?”

 

“Zero distortion, sir.”  Jensen almost gave Morgan, clearly ex-military, a mock salute but thought better of it, settling for another of his cheesiest white-toothed smiles.

 

Morgan matched it, clearly pissed.  “You're a real blue-flame special, aren't you, Agent?”  Morgan gave Jensen a once over, face twisted in a disgusted smirk.  “Young, dumb and full of cum, I know.  This department has chewed up and spit out a dozen others like you that couldn’t hack it so let’s get something straight.  I know you think you’re hot shit but until you back up those test scores with results I’ve got my eye on you, cowboy.” 

 

Morgan did an about face and started heading back to his office.  He stopped at the door to the offices, addressing Jensen over his shoulder.  “I’m partnering you up with Agent Jim Beaver.  Get your happy ass down to the pool and introduce yourself.  He’s there for his quarterly physical.”


	2. Sea World

Jensen talked to the receptionist again for directions to the gym.  She smiled at him knowingly, probably all too aware of Agent Morgan’s methods of handling new recruits.  Jensen was anxious to meet his new partner, especially given the welcome he’d received thus far. 

 

The smell of chlorine flared his nostrils as he entered the white tiled, high ceilinged pool area.  The Olympic-size pool was bathed in natural light from the wall of windows on the far side.  The reflection off the turquoise blue water cast wavy distortions on two dozen men, clad in navy and gold t-shirts and swim trunks that stood grumbling as they waited in a loosely formed line.  There was a splash as the agent at the head of the line dove in blindfolded, swam deep, and searched the bottom for bricks to retrieve.

 

Jensen spotted a hard bodied man in a tight fitting, white FBI issue t-shirt, navy shorts, and a red baseball cap.  He was holding a clipboard and had a yellow measuring tape draped over his shoulder.  He appeared to be in charge of administering the physicals.  Hopefully, he could point Jensen toward his new partner. 

 

The agent stripping down to his trunks and stepping to the front of the line was a man in his fifties with thinning silver and brown hair and a trim, similarly colored beard.  He possessed a booming voice and distended belly that had seen more brews and hoagies than skinless chicken breasts.  The agent in the red cap sat down his clipboard and held up the tape measure, preparing to assess the older man’s waistline.

 

“The dolls love this baby, Agent Cody. It brings them luck when they rub it.”  The older agent chuckled as he slapped his hands against his generous belly, patting it like a proud gorilla.  Agent Cody turned his head, face twisted in disgust, as he wrapped the tape measure around Beaver’s thick midsection.

 

“We’re going to need a bigger tape.” Cody remarked as he tried in vain to bring the ends together.

 

“Just read the goddamn number, smart ass.”  The older agent huffed.  “Screw you and this holistic fitness crap, anyway!  At least my arms don't flap in the wind.” 

 

“Okay, can it Agent Beaver.  Let's put on the blindfold.  I need see you retrieve at least two bricks from the bottom.”  Cody picked up his clipboard and scratched some numbers down on his worksheet as Agent Beaver stomped over to a wet strip of fabric lying on the concrete.  He was muttering angrily under his breath as he tied it around his head, tugging it down over his eyes. 

 

“I've been in the field thirty-three years, fired my piece twenty-three times in the line of duty, and I have no idea what a blindfolded man fetching bricks from the bottom of a fuckin’ swimming pool has to do with being a Special Agent!”

 

Smirking, Jensen approached Agent Beaver as he finished adjusting his blindfold.  The man turned to face Jensen, continuing his tirade, apparently thinking he was still speaking to Agent Cody who had already moved on to talking to the man next in line for evaluation.

 

“On top of this fucking indignity, they saddle me with a new partner.  Some blue-flamer, fresh out of Quantico.  Fuckin’ jock.  Quarterback punk.  Name’s Jenny Unitas or some shit.”

 

“The shit they pull, huh?”  Jensen quipped, feigning agreement.

 

Agent Beaver snorted and puffed out his chest before turning around and diving in a practiced cannonball into the pool.  There was a huge splash of water that Jensen skittered back to avoid.  The other agents in line erupted in hoots and hollers at Agent Beaver’s display while Agent Cody cursed under his breath, shaking the water off his soaked clipboard.  Jensen stepped over the huge puddle caused by Beaver’s splash to watch his new partner grovel along the bottom to scoop up his bricks. 

 

“Agent Ackles, I presume?  I’m Agent Cody.”  He stepped up alongside Jensen and extended his still-damp hand.  Jensen shook it, wiping the residual moisture off on his slacks.  “Don’t worry about Jim, the fucking windbag.”  He shook his head, turning to face the pool when he saw the older man swimming toward the surface.  “Here he comes. Hold up a fish and he'll take it right outta your hand.” 

 

Jensen couldn’t help but laugh as Agent Beaver surfaced in an explosion of spray, sputtering for breath.  The other agents cheer as he grabbed the edge and angrily slapped two bricks down onto the tiles.  He ripped off the blindfold, looked up and frowned as he spied Agent Cody and Jensen, both grinning down at him.  Jensen extended his hand to Agent Beaver, helping haul him up onto the deck. 

 

“Hey Shamu, this is your guy.” Agent Cody said before walking away.  Jim gave Jensen a wary once over, extending his hand after a beat.

 

“Agent Beaver.  Jim Beaver.”

 

“Punk.  Quarterback Punk.”

 

“Welcome to Sea World, kid.”  Jim said, grinning.  He walked over to his towel and pile of clothes, leaving Jensen standing in his cheap suit, standing in a huge puddle of chlorine, and feeling more like a fish out of water than ever.

 

________

 

 

The video had sound and was in color despite being captured on the First Savings Bank’s only video camera. Sadly, the bank’s recently upgraded security didn’t do much to stop the perps.  The time and date stamp on the bottom of the screen were only a few hours old, the latest in a long string of robberies by the same group of men.  Jensen hunkered down over the video monitor in the bank’s security office as Agent Beaver looked over his shoulder. 

 

On the screen, employees and customers milled about inside the bank lobby, business as usual.  The scene was so ordinary it almost begged for something loud and violent to happen.  And it did.  A man in a tan sport coat and navy slacks was exiting the bank briskly, stuffing cash into his wallet.  As he reached the bank’s glass and aluminum front doors, he was hit by a wall of four large, heavily armed men. 

 

They were dressed in identically tailored black suits with crisp white shirts and skinny black ties and were toting major firepower.  Jensen spotted two pump-action twelve gauge shotguns and a short-barreled pistol-grip shotgun in the hands of three of the men.  The last man to enter the bank was carrying a powerful silver, single-action revolver.    

 

Each man’s identity was obscured by an absurd rubber mask – Leonardo, Michelangelo, Donatello, and Raphael.  The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.  The anthropomorphic turtles had been the most popular Halloween costume for the past two years running and the masks could be found at costume shops all over the SoCal area. 

 

The turtle-faced man with the blue ninja-mask shoved the man in the tan jacket out of the way.  He went skidding across the floor, bills and wallet spilling out of his hands, and a look of extreme shock on his face.

 

“That one’s ‘Leonardo.’  Blue mask, silver revolver.  He’s the ringleader.”  Beaver informed.

 

The red masked turtle smashed the butt of his twelve-gauge into the crotch of the security guard nearest the door.  The man crumpled into a pile on the floor, clutching his genitals and sobbing.

 

“’Raphael’s’ in the red mask.  He seems to be the one with the shortest temper.  Causes the most injuries.  But they haven’t killed anyone… Yet.”

 

The other guard went for his holster and found himself looking down the barrels of three shotguns and one very large handgun as the men descended on him in a tight-knit unit. 

 

Leonardo stared down the pistol that was shaking in the guard’s hand.  “Pull your gun, go to heaven.”  He said. His voice was powerful but muffled by the rubber mask.  
 

The guard froze, pale and sweaty, putting his hands up in the air without having to be told twice.  The turtle with the purple mask slipped up beside him and collected the weapon before backing up against the door to watch the street and the sedan they left idling on the curb. 

 

“That’s ‘Donatello’ in purple and ‘Michelangelo’ in orange.”

 

Michelangelo covered the stunned tellers with his short-barreled shotgun as Leonardo jumped gracefully onto the island holding the deposit slips and pens.  “EVERYBODY FREEZE!”  He shouted, waving his gun.  “GET ON THE GROUND!”  He yelled down at the cluster of customers frozen in fear between the island and the main counter.  They quickly fell to their knees and dive onto their bellies, instinctually covering their heads.

 

Raphael hurdled over the counter to the tellers’ side and started moving down the line, threatening the terrified men and women with his shotgun.  Michelangelo joined him and pulled a large canvas sack from his inside jacket pocket.  His hands moved like lightning as he quickly emptied the tellers’ cash drawers into it, one by one.  Raphael stalked back and forth down the line of terrified employees, threatening any movements or wandering eyes with a smash from the butt of his shotgun. 

 

“That’s right, just stay cool.  Everybody stay cool.  Heads down.  Eyes down.  The money's insured, it’s not worth dying for.”  Leonardo continued, playing the calm voice of reason now instead of the shouting villain.  The guy was good.

 

Michelangelo pulled a bundle of twenties back out of the bag and tossed it to a bank employee who was standing frozen with his hands up, pressed against the wall on the lobby side of the counter.  The balding man in his dated suit reflexively caught the money and then dropped it again like a hot potato just before it exploded into a cloud of blue ink and shredded paper.  His pale grey jacket, hands, and face were splattered with indigo blue dye and smoldering money confetti showered down onto the terrified customers on the floor. 

 

“Hang in there, everyone!  We just need another forty-five seconds of your time.”  Leonardo watched Michelangelo finish filling the bag.  Donatello looked down at his watch and whistled at his comrades holding the door open.

 

“That’s all folks!”  Leonardo barked as he jumped down from his perch.

 

The men were in sync as they sprinted for the exit.  Leonardo was out first, followed by Donatello.  Michelangelo hoisted the heavy bag of cash over his shoulder and paused at the exit to drop his trousers and moon the surveillance camera.  The words **THANK YOU** were written in black ink, big and bold, across his white ass cheeks.   Raphael dashed out the door past him as he hoisted his pants back up.  He turned to face the camera and flashed a peace sign before following his partners. 

 

“Twenty-seven banks in three years, all in and out in ninety seconds.  Nobody ever gets shot.  These guys are professionals.”  Agent Beaver leaned over and hit rewind on the tape player, clearly frustrated.  “They control the room well.  Stick strictly to the cash drawers.  Each one of them has a specific role.”

 

“They don't ever go for the vault?”  Jensen asked, wanting to get his facts straight.

 

“Nope.  Never.  They never get greedy.”  Beaver replied, watching the screen as the tape rewound.

 

“Smart.  You burn time in the vault.”  Jensen mused. 

 

“Leonardo usually drives.  Stolen switch car, they leave it running at the curb.  It looks parked from a distance. When they run, they dump the vehicle and vanish.  And I mean vanish.”

 

Jensen pressed play watching Michelangelo separate an exploding dye pack that had been planted in one of the stacks of money.  He extracted it quickly and tossed it to the side quickly.  He had done this literally hundreds of times and knew exactly how to spot the anti-theft mechanisms and dismantle them efficiently and effectively.  

 

“Surgical,” Jensen said, almost in awe, “Raph and Mikey know their jobs.” 

 

“These guys are the best I've ever seen, kid.”  Jim sounded rueful, almost defeated.

 

Agents Buckley and Wester who had been collecting witness accounts in the lobby entered the small office.  Jensen had only been briefly introduced to them and already knew they were mostly incompetent blow-hards.  It was no wonder their unit had been struggling.

 

“Are you two are finished jerking off yet?  We need to log that footage into evidence.” Agent Wester was smart enough but one hell of an arrogant prick.  Guys like him were a dime a dozen at the academy.  He had a constant air of impatience about him so his tone wasn’t much of a surprise, even in front of a new recruit. 

 

“Hey, Jimmy,” Agent Buckley chuckled snidely, “you tell Ackles your theory on the Turtles yet?”  The Heckyl to Wester’s Jeckyl, a know-it-all with the likeability of a sea slug. 

 

“Don’t be an asshole.  Just take the tape.”  Jim ejected the cassette and shoved it into Agent Buckley’s hands.  Agent Wester smiled and raised a fist with the back of his hand facing them.  He extended his pinky and thumb, wiggling his hand back and forth.

 

“Cowabunga, dude!  Hang ten, like totally rad…”  Wester’s over-the-top ‘surfer dude’ voice was an obvious nod to the Turtles but Jensen still wasn’t in on the joke.

 

“What the hell are they talking about, Jim?”  Jensen could tell this ran far deeper than a simple inside joke.

 

Agent Beaver sighed and shook his head, looking as if he were about to explain when there was a sharp knock on the glass door.  Agent Morgan opened it and leaned in, barking a short order.

 

“They found the drop car up on Mullholland.  You two, go work it.”  He barked at Jensen and Jim.

 

“Are you fucking serious, Jeff?  Now I'm working the drop car?  Who's handling the scene here?”  Agent Beaver was pissed, not bothering to hold back in front of his new partner.  Agent Morgan lowered his voice a bit, sounding almost contrite.

 

“I'm letting Buckley and Wester run with the ball here for a while.  Sorry, Jim.”

 

“Those two shitheads?  I’ve been on this case for two years!”  Jim was fuming.  Agent Morgan leaned in, face hardening. 

 

“That’s the point, Jim.” 

 

“Yeah, I get it.  Message received loud and clear, JD.”  Jim pulled his houndstooth sport coat off the back of the office chair Jensen was sitting it, yanking it back on in a hurry.  “How about your office?  Your office need vacuuming?  I mean, we could do that too.”  Agent Beaver squeezed past Agent Morgan where he had planted himself in the doorway to the small office.

 

Morgan stayed silent, arms crossed over his chest.  Jensen followed his partner, shrugging slightly as he slipped past the larger man. 

 

Great, office politics were just what Jensen needed.  Jensen’s only interest was in catching these guys.  He did not plan on getting dragged into the middle of whatever beef Morgan had with his new partner. 

 

Sink or swim, they say.  They should also tell you it would be ten times harder when you had an aging, bitter, brick of concrete strapped to your ankle.   


	3. Sex Wax

The ride up to Mulholland Drive was quiet.  Jensen waited for Agent Beaver to offer some more details but he drove white knuckled, eyes locked on the road, still silently fuming, his shoulders squared tight.  It was making Jensen tense just looking at his partner so he forced himself to try and enjoy the scenery as they wound up the scrubby Hollywood hillside.  The light was fading fast and the city of Los Angeles glimmered softly in the twilight as Jim pulled his sedan onto one of the many scenic turnouts along the famous stretch of road.  Several squad cars sat with their lights flashing.  Beat cops and lab techs were milling around a non-descript brown Buick that was parked near the guardrail. 

 

Before they arrived, Forensics had poured over the vehicle and found it completely clean.  Not a hair or fiber or partial print to be found.  Still, Jensen was determined to know more.  He needed to get a little more intimate with the criminals he had only seen on a video monitor.  He pulled on a rubber glove and pointed his mini-mag light at the dashboard as he slid into the driver’s seat.  He illuminated a path across the sparkling clean dash, down to the passenger seat.  There was a small, cream colored card, folded like a pup tent in the center of the seat.  He picked it up and read what was printed on the face:  “sanitized for your protection.”  Agent Beaver leaned in the passenger window. 

 

“Cute, huh?  They love to fuck with us.”

 

A petite, dark haired forensics agent with tortoise shell framed glasses approached and handed Agent Beaver a clipboard, shaking her head.  Clearly the news wasn’t good.

 

“Let me guess, the switch-car was stolen this morning.”  He grumbled before even looking down at the page. 

 

 “They also vacuumed and scrubbed the interior with 409, washed the windows inside and out, and emptied the ashtrays,” she said. 

 

“Yep, the usual drill.  It’s the same calling card too.”  Jim slammed the folder shut and tucked it under his arm.  He’d been here dozens of times before. 

 

Jensen lifted the card delicately between his gloved fingers and studied the paper for a moment before handing it over to the Forensics agent. 

 

“They could've taken their gloves off before setting that down.  Dust it for prints.  It’s possible one of them held it to his teeth so let’s check the edges for saliva, too.”  Jensen requested as he got out of the Buick.  She stared at him coolly from under her dark bangs as she took the card in her own gloved hand.  She didn’t seem pleased at being talked to like she was the one fresh out of the Academy, instead of the other way around.  

 

Jensen paused for a moment, softening his tone before making his final thoughts known.  “Today was a scorcher and this junker doesn't have air conditioning –”

 

She cut him off before he could continue, “You want me to look for sweat secretions in the seatbacks?  Yeah, we checked.  The car’s clean.  Completely clean.  Just like always.”  She pivoted on her toe and headed back to the forensics van.

 

“You through, Mr. Wizard?”  Jim chided.  “Let me know if you find Jimmy Hoffa under the seat while you're at it.”  He looked down at his watch.  “Hell, it's only 7:30.  The night's still young!  You can solve this case and start on another one before it’s time to clock out.  You know, this ain’t her first rodeo, kid, and the last thing you want is a lab team unwilling to work with you.”

 

Jensen huffed and threw up his arms.  This was his first real case and he was just going by the book, exploring every angle.  It wasn’t his fault that it seemed like everyone in LA was resigned to let the Turtles keep getting away.  He was sick of the endless litany of excuses the Bureau seemed to have for why they didn’t have a single lead.

 

“Well, why don’t you enlighten me, Jim?  Tell me what your theory is on these guys.”  Jensen barked in frustration.

 

“Just forget it, Ackles.  They're ghosts.  Or, I dunno, go talk to those punks Morgan has running the case now.  I’m sure they’ve got a whole mess of theories!  I'm almost fifty-five so I must be senile, right?  They better get me out before I start pissing myself in public or drooling.  It would look bad for the Bureau,” Jim sneered.

 

“Don’t take this shit out on me, man.  I’m not part of this office politics pity party you seem to be throwing.  Sounds to me like you’re content to just coast through to retirement when you could nail these guys and go out with some goddamned dignity!”

 

Jim glared at Jensen, face red, nostrils flaring like a bull.  “Watch your fucking mouth, Ackles.  Rookie asshole, you don’t know a damned thing about this case.” 

 

Jim balled his fists and stomped over to the guardrail, fuming.  He crossed his arms over his chest and looked out across the city below them, twinkling prettily, veiled in fog.  His face softened some in the quiet that enveloped his thoughts.  

 

“I’ve had this job for thirty goddamn years, Jensen.  LA's changed a lot since then.  The air got dirty and the sex got clean but the crooks keep coming.  Smarter and smarter each time.”  He sighed and turned back to face Jensen.  “So you want to nail the Turtles, be a big hero, kid?”

 

“Yeah.  Yeah, I fucking do.”  Jensen smiled at his partner, seeing a real spark in his eyes for the first time since they met.  “What's your theory, Jim?  Let me help you do this.”

 

“Alright.  Let’s go back to HQ.  There are some things I’ve got to show you.” 

 

** _________ **

 

 

They picked up some greasy tacos from a truck off Sepulveda and a sixer of Corona from the bodega next to it on their way back to the office.  Jim wouldn’t explain anything further on the drive but Jensen finally felt like he was getting somewhere with his new partner.  Agent Beaver may have been close to retirement and frustrated with this painful case but it was clear to Jensen that he was an intelligent, passionate guy and a good detective, even if he was a something of a hard-boiled detective cliché. 

 

Back in the bullpen, they played back a tape of the robbery on one of the small monitors.  It was grainy black and white on this TV, much harder to make out details, but Jim didn’t bother making them watch it from the beginning.  He fast-forwarded through to the end, stopping just before the men made their getaway. 

 

They watched until Michelangelo paused in the bank doorway and mooned the camera with his special “THANK YOU!”  Jim pushed pause, freezing frame on the perp’s pasty white butt. 

 

“I’m telling you kid, it’s staring us right in the face.”  Jim poked his finger at the screen, his fingertip jabbing right above the man’s ass crack.  “Look at the tan on this guy.  He’s a _surfer_.” 

 

Jensen looked up at Jim incredulously, eyebrow arched in disbelief.  He leaned forward and stared at the inscribed ass.  Sure enough, it was framed above by a prominent, deep bronze tan line.  “Oh, well that settles it.  He _must_ be a surfer.  No one else in Los Angeles has a TAN.”  Jensen rolled his eyes and took a long pull off his warming beer.

 

“Shut up and pay attention.  You might actually learn somethin’ if you’re not careful.”  Jim grabbed a manila folder off his desk and handed it to Jensen.  “Last year, Raphael scuffs his shoe when he’s jumping over a counter.  There was a soil sample.” 

 

Jensen opened the folder and flipped through the contents, inside was a forensics report with a list of compounds found in the soil and a graph of their various concentrations.  Jim rattled it off from memory.

 

“Non-specific mud, traces of asphalt, motor oil, blah, blah, blah…  Sand and carnauba wax.  That part stood out to me.  What was wax doing on this dude’s shoe?  So, I become a wax expert.  There's eighty some uses for this stuff, something like five hundred different products.”  Jim took the top sheet of paper off the report in Jensen’s hand and pointed to the list underneath.  It was a thick ream of paper, secured at the top with a wide, black binder clip.  Jensen scanned the long lists of brand names.

 

“Candle wax.  Car wax.  Mustache wax?  Who knew wax had so many uses.  It could be anything.”  He looked up at Agent Beaver, waiting for more.  The older man nodded and took a swig of his Corona, nodding like Jensen was on the right track.

 

“I got it.  The guy's waxing his mustache at the beach.  Gets sand in it.  Wipes it off with a shoe.  Shoe scuffs the counter.”  Jensen teased, smiling.

 

“Cute, Ackles.  The lab made three possible matches, this was one of 'em.”  Jim opened his desk drawer, pulling out a small, round container the size and shape of a hockey puck.  He turned it in his hand a few times before tossing it to Jensen.  It had got a bright, neon pink and purple label and was wrapped in cellophane. The words "Mr. Zog's Sex Wax" were printed in bright lime green across the front.

 

“Sex wax?  You're not into kinky shit, are you, Jim?”  Jensen smirked and flipped the disc of wax in his hand to read the back. 

 

“Surfers use it on their boards, dummy.  For traction!”  Jim exclaimed, as if it was common knowledge.

 

“Never heard of the stuff.  Sorry, we don’t do a lot of surfing in Dallas but thanks for the tip.”

 

Jim shoved another thick file folder across the desk toward Jensen.  “Now, smartass look at the dates of the robberies.  There’s a pattern.  This is strictly a summer job for these guys.”

 

Jensen leafed through the pages in the folder, noting the highlighted dates of each job.  “...Four months.  June to October.  ...same the year before.”  He mumbled as he looked back up at the man’s ass still plastered across the small TV monitor.

 

“Another few months and we won't see 'em again.  Not until next summer.  They’re like migratory fucking birds.”  Jim sighed. 

 

Jensen stared at Jim for a few beats as the story finally gelled into a cohesive picture.  “Shit.  I think you’re on to something.  It’s like they're traveling the rest of the year on the money, going where the waves are...” 

 

Jim started to grin as he realized Jensen was on board.  Suddenly, the older man jumped up out of his chair, hunkering down in a speed-crouch with his arms extended – a classic surfer pose.  “You got it kid!  They rip off banks to finance their endless summer!”  Jensen watched, laughing at his partner’s renewed enthusiasm. 

 

The cleaning lady walked in, stopping with a waste basket in her arms and a questioning look on her face at Jim’s ridiculous antics.  Jensen turned to her and shrugged.  “I think he needs a vacation.”

 

** _________ **

 

 

Jensen readily agreed when Agent Beaver said they were taking a fieldtrip to Hermosa Beach during their lunch hour.  It sounded infinitely better than sitting for one more minute under the bare fluorescent glow of the bullpen. 

 

Once they were at the coast, he shucked off his polyester blend jacket and tossed it in the back seat of Beaver’s sedan.  He rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt as they walked down the sandy sidewalk to the long, weathered pier that was peppered with tourists and joggers.  The sun was bright and the breeze carried a crisp chill.  Jensen squinted and shielded his eyes in the midday glare, reminding himself to invest in a good pair of Ray Bans.  He could get used to this; it was a million times better than being stuck in front of a computer monitor.

 

About halfway down the pier that jutted out a good thousand feet into the deep blue Pacific, Jim stopped and leaned against the pier railing, looking out over the water back toward the beach.  Jensen followed Beaver’s eye line to the shore where the water swelled and crested, frothing in rhythmic peaks against the soft, brown sand.  He sucked in a lungful of salty-sweet ocean air as he rested his elbows on the rail next to his partner. 

 

Jim finally broke the silence, speaking with an odd, distant admiration in his voice.  “Look at them out there.”  The beach itself was sparsely populated.  Jim was focusing on clusters of at least two dozen surfers floating astride their boards in wait, past the breakers. 

 

“They’re like a tribe, Ackles.  You can’t just walk up to these guys and start asking questions.  You’ve got to get out there, learn their language.  Get into their heads.” 

 

“Alright, well we passed a surf shop on our way,” Jensen nodded his head in the direction of the parking area, “let’s check out some gear, ‘brah.’”  He did his best to mock a stereotypical surfer accent, realizing how ridiculous it sounded over his slight Texas twang.  He pushed back off the railing and shoved his hands in his pockets as he headed back to the beach.  Jim was right and Jensen was ready to make some progress before the summer was over and they had lost their chance.  

 

The uber-tan, bikini clad cashier eyed Jensen a bit suspiciously when he swung the door open, ringing the bell loudly.

 

Jensen had to admit he was in over his head when he looked down the long rack of vibrant, gleaming surfboards that lined the walls of ‘Benny’s Surf Shack.’  The bells over the front door jingled again as Jim caught up.  They definitely looked out of place in their white dress shirts and loosened ties.

 

Jensen took a few steps down the long row of boards and reached in to grab a neon yellow model from the stack, hefting it up and extracting it from between its mates.  He was surprised at the weight of the thing and pivoted in his hands, trying to look like he knew what he was doing.

 

“Nice choice, man.”  A skinny, tan kid that couldn’t be any older than seventeen stepped around the rack of wetsuits to Jensen’s right.  “High performance, very kind.  If you want to get aggro, this stick is it.”  He didn’t understand half of what the guy was saying.  Maybe this was going to be harder than it looked.

 

The kid raked his hand through sandy blonde bangs that spilled over his nut-brown cheekbones.  Jensen knew his own hair would lighten up like that in the sun too.  Maybe he should grow it out so he could blend in more.  Jensen eyed the salesman’s dayglo board shorts, faded sleeveless Billabong t-shirt, and blown-out black and white checkered vans.  Not exactly in line with the collection of preppy sportswear Jensen had in his own closet.

 

“Where do you surf?”  The kid asked, finally starting to question Jensen’s odd clothing choice for a day at the beach.

 

“Uh, I don’t.”  Jensen stuttered honestly.  The kid wasn’t likely to be fooled by Jensen’s obvious ignorance.  It was best to bite the bullet and take it as a learning opportunity.

 

“Woah, then you best back up, brah.”  The teen took the board out of Jensen’s hands and slid it back between the others.  “That board’s a 5’6” tri-fin squash-tail thruster.  You’d eat major shit on it, dude.  No offense.”

 

Jensen heard his partner stifle an amused snicker before walking over to the counter to look at the sunglasses, leaving him to fend for himself.

 

“Okay, well then what do you suggest?”  The kid trudged over to a stack of boards at the side of the front counter, all much larger bulkier than the one he’d held earlier.  The young man selected a salmon pink board with a garish yellow and red flame paint job.  He offered it to Jensen with a confident nod. 

 

“Here, man.  You’re gonna need a rhino chaser like this one to learn on.  It’s a good board and definitely more your speed as a beginner.  Trust me.”

 

Jensen couldn’t help but sneer a little as he accepted the offering.  He felt the burn of frustration that always flared up when he discovered he wasn’t good at something.  It didn’t happen often.  This board was like a green-paneled station wagon and Jensen wanted the Ferrari. 

 

He sucked up his pride and nodded, knowing that he needed to listen and learn if he was ever going to make a convincing surfer.  “Yeah, all right.  I’ll take it.” 

 

Jensen and Jim filled the counter with a pile of other purchases to help with the plan.  A wetsuit that the kid helped him select, some neon turquoise board shorts that didn’t clash too badly with the board’s loud paint job, a couple of t-shirts with Quicksilver and Billabong logos, sun block, and a nice pair of sunglasses.

 

“Hey, man.  You’re gonna need this too.”  The kid grabbed a hockey-puck sized package from a rack on the counter and plunked it down on top of Jensen’s other items.  Beaver picked it up and sniffed it before turning it over, flashing the “SEX WAX” label at him, waggling his eyebrows.  It was exactly like the one Beaver had stashed in his desk drawer.

 

““Best for your stick,” huh?”  Jim read the label out loud.  “This might not be enough.  Better get two.”  He winked and elbowed Jensen as the kid rolled his eyes and began ringing up the pile of gear. 

 

“Hey, man.  Guys your age learning to surf, it’s cool.  There’s nothing wrong with it.”  He said.

 

“I’m twenty-five, dude.”  Jensen huffed, glaring at Jim out of the corner of his eye.

 

“See, that’s what I’m saying!  It’s never too late,” the kid chimed, completely missing the irony.  Jensen picked up the huge board and turned toward the door as Jim slapped a credit card on the counter.  At least the gear would be paid for on the FBI’s dime.

 

“I hope you stay with it, dude.  Surfin’s the source.  It’ll change your life.  You’ll see.”  There was warmth and honesty in the kid’s voice.  He wasn’t mocking Jensen but he still felt like a huge jackass in his Sears slacks and navy blue tie holding the neon beast of a board under his arm.  Jim jogged up to join Jensen with the rest of their loot. 

 

“Come on, Ackles.  I know this probably wasn’t what you had in mind when you took this job but it’s the only way and you know it.  You heard that kid in there!  These guys have their own language.  We’ve got to get you out there.  You’ve got to become one of them to sniff these assholes out.” 

 

Of course Jim was right but he wasn’t the one about to go unofficially undercover to chase this crackpot theory. 

 

“How are we going to fit this thing in the fuckin’ car anyway?”  Jensen lifted the board and propped it against the car door.  “I don’t see why I just can’t walk around with this thing under my arm and act stoned, ask a few questions.” 

 

Jim stopped and pointed out to the sea.  “Those guys out there are living a lifestyle your privileged Texas ass can’t even begin to fathom.  I’m tellin’ ya, kid, you’re gonna stick out like a sore thumb if you don’t approach this the right way.”

 

“Yeah well you’re not the one that’s gonna be out there with a six foot hunk of fiberglass strapped to your fucking ankle!  This stuff is for little rubber people who don’t shave yet.”  Jensen thought of the whip-thin little surfer dude from the shop, imagining him on a glossy, sleek yellow board cutting through the waves like a surgeon.  It made Jensen feel like a stocky, uncoordinated oaf just thinking about it.

 

“Come on, Jensen.  It’s all balance, right?  Coordination.  You’re a jock.  How hard can it be?”

 

** ___________ **

 

 

Jensen didn’t see the inside of the office again that week and quickly found himself wanting a break from the salt-soaked skin and lungs full of murky seawater.  Jim was supportive, but watching his partner lounging on a beach chair in his tacky pink surf shorts and wraparound sunglasses wasn’t exactly comforting while Jensen was getting pounded into the surf wave after wave. 

 

He had flipped his board countless times and still wasn’t able to get his footing quite right on the broad surfboard.  His arm and leg muscles burned constantly from the strain of paddling and pushing himself up onto the board over and over again.  Despite using sun screen he had developed a throbbing red burn across the back of his neck and the bridge of his freckled nose. 

 

The seawater burned his eyes as he coughed out yet another mouthful of accidentally inhaled saline.

 

“I think you gotta hit ‘em straight on!”  Jim yelled across the beach as Jensen dragged his board behind him, collapsing to his knees in the wet sand after his most recent wipeout. 

 

Jensen was out of breath as he raised his middle finger, giving Beaver the bird.  “Yeah, thanks coach.  I got it.”  He yelled back, pulling himself up and walking to a dry patch of sand further inland.  He laid back with his head against the board and closed his eyes, allowing his breathing return to normal as the sun warmed his face and started to dry off his wetsuit.  He let the rest of the world fall away, trying to stop focusing on his ragged breath and aching muscles. 

 

There in the damp sand and warm California sun, it was almost as if his heartbeat synched up with the sound of the waves.  For a fleeting moment he could actually understand how people claimed to find God out here.  He lay there, in a Zen-like trance, fully zoned out for a few blissful minutes before a shadow fell over his face.

 

“Come on, kid.  You’re not ready to throw in the towel yet, are you?”  Beaver chided him, kicking sand across Jensen’s splayed legs. 

 

“Shut the fuck up, Jim.  Isn’t there something useful you could be doing?”  Jensen propped himself up on his elbows and squinted out at the ocean, trying to mentally prepare go back in for another round of abuse. 

 

“Hey, I’m here for moral support, remember?  Besides, that board doesn’t exactly fit into the backseat of your POS.”  Jim turned around to walk back to where he had set up camp.  “Now cheer up.  I’ll take you to Volcano Burger after your next set.  Don’t give up now, Ackles.”  He called out over his shoulder. 

 

Jensen stood, rubbing his knee absent-mindedly as he stretched his joints.  It would be a miracle if he didn’t screw up what had taken him two surgeries and a year of physical therapy to correct.  Still, Jensen wasn’t a quitter and he knew deep down that Jim was right.  He needed to remain focused on his task.  He could overcome this challenge and learn to surf, that was who he was – a winner, a fighter.  Jensen wasn’t about to let California get the better of him. 

 

Jensen was in the ocean again, belly against his longboard, paddling into the surf before he could think better of it.  He took the first few sets head on with renewed confidence, holding the tip of his board steady as he gouged the face of the waves and slipped out the other side effortlessly.  Another wave rose, crystal green before him and he let the momentum he’d built propel him up over the hump, clearing the swell.  The blue smoothed out after that and Jensen knew he had made it past the lineup.  He sat up on the board, stabilizing himself, muscles in his thighs and arms still shaky.   

 

He heard whistling and hooting from further down the beach as he sat, trying to center himself.  His fellow surfers were signaling to one another as a large, new swell rose behind them.  The waves were good today – at least that’s what the crowded surf told him.  As the sea begins to surge beneath him Jensen began to feel like a lost dog on a Los Angeles freeway.  He began paddling anyway, despite his arms feeling more weak and awkward than normal.  He wasn’t sure if he would be able to push himself up on the board again, his strength and confidence were tapped out even though it was still before noon.  Suddenly, a skinny blonde man with a sleek neon green board slashed past him in the water, salt spray blasting Jensen in the face, only inches away from a serious collision. 

 

“Outta the way, dick!”  The young man yelled.  Jensen paddled in the opposite direction but there was another surfer in his path.  The guy was built like a professional wrestler, barreling down the crest of the wave and heading straight toward Jensen. 

 

“Move it, asshole!”  The muscle bound man shouted at Jensen. 

 

Embarrassment flushed hot and red over his cheeks, not that anyone could see it through his obvious sunburn.  Another, bigger wave was coming and Jensen channeled his frustration and anger into paddling hard toward it, determined to get on his feet and prove he wasn’t just another tourist. 

 

Jensen managed to get his feet underneath him, shoving up hard with his forearms and thighs until he made it.  The back of the board started to buck with the wave, challenging his balance.  He felt his stomach drop as his arms pinwheeled desperately, trying to correct his stance.  He overcompensated with his frantic movements and toppled over again, face first into the base of the wave, directly in the way of yet another surfer. 

 

It all happened so fast, and before Jensen could react properly, the board slipped out from under his feet.  It was yanked back harshly by the tether on his ankle, causing it to ricochet into the other man, sending him into the water right behind Jensen.  The impact was harsh – bone, flesh, and fiberglass crashing together before being devoured by the violent surf. 

 

The next few minutes were disorienting and desperate.  It was one of the things that Jensen wasn’t sure he would ever get used to.  The first few moments in the water, it was impossible to tell which way was up as the wave smashed down, suction and turbulence thrusting his body into a spin.  Jensen’s natural instincts pulled him through, as always, and he came up for air gasping and flailing.  His board banged hard against his shoulder as he wiped his face and tried to recover.  He tugged his tether to orient the board and draped his torso across it, still panting for breath. 

 

“You dinged my board, shithead!”  The man was already astride his board again, red faced, his forehead bound in a serious scowl.  He paddled toward Jensen and pointed to a huge gash in the edge of the yellow and red checkered fiberglass. 

 

Jensen looked up apologetic, trying to form words, when the man landed a crushing right hook into his jaw.  The force of the punch knocked Jensen back and he watched helplessly as the man pulled a knife from a sheath strapped to his wrist.  He grabbed Jensen’s board leash form where it had tangled up over the nose of his board and sliced through it so quickly that Jensen had no time to retaliate. 

 

“Get out of the water if you can’t fuckin’ hack it you yuppie asshole!” The man’s lip curled, giving Jensen an angry, gap-toothed snarl.  He bobbed confidently in the water, perfectly balanced on his board, as he slipped the small knife back into place before paddling away.

 

Jensen was still reeling from the punch.  He was stunned the retaliation had been so vicious and swift.  Just as he collected his wits enough to offer some form of response, another wave crested over the back of his head, knocking him face first into his board.  Plunged under the water yet again, Jensen scrambled to keep his head afloat.  He coughed and sputtered, tasting copper mingled with the salt water in his mouth.  What a fucking disaster.

 

He treaded water weakly back to the beach, his forgotten board nowhere in sight.  Once on solid ground again, Jensen stood up, leaning down to rest his hands against his knees, bending over and spitting bloody phlegm into the sand.  He didn’t think it was possible to feel as if he was moving backwards in his progress but after that performance he wasn’t even sure if he would ever catch on enough to be a believable surfer.

 

“Hey.”  Jim’s voice was soft, almost apologetic, but his face carried his signature smirk.  “Maybe this just isn’t your sport, man.” 

 

Jensen looked up at his partner, feeling all of the anger and frustration he’d been channeling inward radiate back out onto his lackluster partner.  He snatched his board from where it was tucked under Agent Beaver’s armpit and turned to stalk back to where the car was parked on the side of the road. 

 

His mouth tasted of blood and his head fucking hurt but as much as he wanted to lay into Agent Beaver, it wasn’t worth it.  Bullshit.  That’s what this assignment was.  He wasn’t sure how much more he was willing to put up with.  At the rate he was learning, it might be winter before he would be proficient enough to hold his own enough to get inside the culture.

 

The rest of the day passed slowly.  They returned to the office after their burger but Jensen found it hard to do anything other than scratch at his sunburn through the itchy neck of his dress shirt and sip on his huge Styrofoam cup of horchata.  He sorted through some of the evidence for the other cases in his workload but his mind kept returning to his out-and-out failure on the beach and subsequent humiliation by men he was working to have accept him as peers. 

 

His pride wouldn’t let him give up.  He was going to learn how to surf, even if it killed him.


	4. Leo Carrillo

_“Not the final breaker, heavy with brine,_  
that thunders onshore, and creates   
the silence of sand, that encircles the world,   
but the inner spaces of force,   
the naked power of the waters,   
the immoveable solitude, brimming with lives.   
It is Time perhaps, or the vessel filled   
with all motion, pure Oneness,   
that death cannot touch, the visceral green   
of consuming totality.”

 

_from ‘The Wide Ocean’ – by Pablo Neruda_

 

The sound of Jensen’s alarm clock blasted into his eardrums with the force of a sledgehammer, cuting through the dark peacefulness of sleep like an electric shock.  He was only disoriented for a moment before slamming his hand down onto the snooze button and letting his resolve kick in.  It was four AM but he needed to get his sore ass back in the water.  He was physically, mentally, and, if he was honest, emotionally exhausted but if he hit the beach when there were fewer people and put more of his own time into learning he would figure it out, eventually.  Starting off his day with a few hours in the water could replace his jogging and cardio routine for a while.  He psyched himself up on the drive to the shore despite every bone in his body still aching from the prior day’s pummeling.  At least the traffic was better this early in the morning. 

 

The sky was kissed with the faintest hint of pink and yellow along the horizon when Jensen pulled up at Leo Carrillo State Beach.  It was further north than he had surfed before but he needed peace and solitude, somewhere he could wrestle with the nasty inadequacy was feeling in not being able to own this sport with the casual ferocity he was used to.  Once he had made the hike down to the beach, the sky had lightened considerably, turning slate grey with early morning clouds that were the norm for SoCal summers. 

 

Jensen stood for a moment, transfixed by the ocean itself.  Enormous, glassy green walls of water the size of small houses were pushing up along the horizon.  The waves were bigger than Jensen had ever seen before, much less surfed.  There must have been a storm off the coast sending these monsters to shore. 

 

As Jensen scanned the waves, he spotted a lone figure bobbing in the water out beyond the break.  He had noticed a few cars in the parking lot when he pulled up but otherwise the beach was deserted.  He watched the petite silhouette as it was picked up by the swell, disappearing for a moment behind the crest of a large wave before slicing gracefully down its face, ducking gracefully through the smooth barrel as it rolled closer to the shore.  Jensen was transfixed for a moment, eyes glued to the figure moving with such ease.  The surfer seemed in perfect harmony with the sea, undulating like a dancer.  As the board and rider were pushed closer, Jensen could tell the surfer was a woman.  The black sheen of her wetsuit clung to the nip of her waist and the swell of her breasts as she crouched down and let the wave take her in its embrace. 

 

Jensen sighed, shaking his head.  She made it look so easy.  She looked more in tune with the waves than Jensen had ever been with anything his entire life.  Oh well, at least she was statistically less likely to kick his ass if he got in her way out on the water.  It was a big beach.  He walked a few minutes south before heading out into the icy foam. 

 

The wetsuit did its job and Jensen’s body acclimated to the frigid water quickly as he paddled out past the breakers.  A horizon full of white capped waves churned behind him but somehow it wasn’t as intimidating now that he was out here among them.  He forces himself to focus, lying flat on the board, rising and dropping in the swell.  He willed his body to relax, undulate on the board in tune with the waves, picturing the surfer he saw earlier, so effortlessly merging with the sea.  So far, so good. 

 

Then the wave appeared, rising above the others.  It was like the fluid back of some gray-green sea beast, calling to Jensen, forever rising and begging him to ride.  He turned and paddled hard as he felt the beast beneath him.  The wave lifted him high onto the crest of its back.  Jensen went with it, committing to the ride, realizing he couldn’t have avoided it if he tried.  He pushed past the panicked feeling that was fluttering in his chest.  He thought again of the talented little pixie from earlier and tried to picture her cutting through the waves like a mermaid with legs.  He tried to channel that same easy grace as he pushed up onto his feet. 

 

For what was probably the first time since buying the board, something clicked and Jensen clung to the flicker of confidence, perched there on the wave.  Jensen’s feet were sturdy below him as his board sliced along the lip of the wave, readying for descent.  That’s when he looked down.  Suddenly it was as if he were standing at the edge of Niagara Falls and that spark of confidence flicked out like a flame in a wet ocean breeze.  Jensen’s balance failed him and his arms pin wheeled, body tipping forward then toppling off the board.  He was airborne momentarily, spiraling in a freefall, before crashing down into the water, right in the impact zone where the rest of the wave was going to follow. 

 

There was a terrifyingly sharp moment of clarity when Jensen’s eyes opened in the soft green water, a breathless serenity with no air and no sound.  Then, like a Mack truck, the entire force of the monster wave came crashing down.  It sounded like a freight train in the split second before his ear drums were blasted with icy seawater, the pressure so intense that he actually checked for blood later.  Jensen’s body was plunged deep by the force of the wave, limbs yanked akimbo, board dragged behind him into the turbulent, dark water. 

 

It was disorienting like nothing Jensen had experienced before.  His body pushed and pulled in every direction, inside a grey-green vortex of rushing water.  The beast had him in its jaws and it shook him ferociously like a used up chew toy.  His air was running out when his shoulder slammed into the rocky, sandy bottom.  He gulped in water as he cried out in pain and his consciousness wavered for a moment from the shock.  At least the impact told him which way was up.  Jensen struggled to swim, pulling his body up through the turbulent water toward the light.  His lungs were burning and his shoulder was screaming in pain.  After what seemed like an eternity, Jensen finally breached the surface of the water, gasping for air, only to be smashed into again by the force of yet another massive wave. 

 

He was slammed down against the edge of his surfboard.  His forearms reflexively curled in a defensive stance around his head, taking the brunt of the impact.  The suction in the water yanked the fiberglass board down and the tension on the board leash increased, yanking Jensen’s ankle down painfully before snapping.  He tumbled helplessly in the cold green and white froth, lungs convulsing, like a rag doll stuck in a washing machine, unable to do anything but let the sea have its way with him.

 

Suddenly, strong, thin arms wrapped around Jensen’s neck and shoulder while narrow fingers tangled painfully in his hair, yanking, holding on for dear life.  It was her – it had to be – the mermaid girl, the graceful water dancer.  Here with her incredible power, miraculously pulling him out of the beast’s mouth.  She hauled his head above the water and he gulped desperately to get air into his lungs.  His body was limp and impotent, too fatigued from the struggle to be much help to his savior.  He could only let her manhandle him, pulling him against her chest, keeping his face out of the swell.  He was choking and coughing, purging the water from his body, replacing the seawater with huge billows of air.

 

“Swim, goddamn it!”  She yelled at him over the roar of the waves.  “Come on, move it!” 

 

She tugged her surfboard under one of his arms for support and kicked her legs fiercely, trying to push them out of the waves’ impact zone.  He tried to help but his limbs were weak and nearly useless.  Fortunately, his savior had him in a strong but painful grip, stroking powerfully in an effort to get them to calmer water, further away from the beach.  He heard the muted thunder of the surf hitting the sand get further away as the swell formed, lifted, and dropped them as they passed by.  Safer than before, she dragged him up further onto her surfboard, practically slamming his face against it as he continued to cough saline out of his lungs.

 

Once the flow of oxygen returned to his brain and his muscles regained some of their strength he looked up into her concerned face.  Her auburn hair fanned out in the water around her, clinging to her narrow shoulders.  Her face was sleek and feral, dark eyes burning bright as they shifted from intense concern to anger.  She was striking, even as she proceeded to rip him a new one. 

 

“Look, you crazy son of a bitch!  If you want to commit suicide, go do it someplace else!”  Her brow was furrowed into a serious scowl as she unhooked her board leash and disappeared into the water, leaving him slumped over her board.  She returned a few moments later with his salmon, station wagon of a board in tow and heaved it toward him.  He accepted it, pulling himself onto it, still weak and wiping the stinging water out of his eyes to assess the damage.  His wetsuit was torn and his shoulder was bleeding from where he rearranged the sea floor with it earlier. 

 

“Look at this piece of shit,” she said as she shoved his board angrily, “it’s still got the fucking price tag on it!  You’ve got no business being out here you rookie son of a bitch!  Have you lost your fucking mind!?” 

 

Jensen managed to finally find his voice, yelling back at her defensively.  “Fuck, I’m sorry, okay!  I just – You’re right!  I’m new at this, yeah, but I saw you out here too and figured it was safe enough!”

 

“Oh, really?”  She raised her brow, sneering, spitting her words, full of venom.  “You pompous fuck!  You figured if a chick can do it then it should be no problem for a hot shot stud like you, right?”  She paused for a moment, face flushed red with anger and exertion.  “Well, you figured fucking wrong, asshole.  Now get the fuck out of the water before you get yourself killed.”  She slid on top of her board and started paddling parallel to the shore away from him. 

 

“Hey!  Wait!” He called after her, “Thank you.  I’m sorry and thank you.  Oh, and my name’s Jensen!” 

 

Pausing her stroke, she raised a hand out of the water and flipped him the bird, shouting “ _WHO CARES_!?” loud enough that he could hear it despite the distance she’d put between them.  It was probably a blessing that she had paddled out of earshot before Jensen could manage to stick his foot even further into his mouth. 

 

He collected himself for a few moments before paddling after her.  The truth was he had no idea how to get back to shore in conditions like this and his stomach churned as he watched the huge waves continue to crest and smash like freight trains into the shore in the distance.  He kept his eyes trained on her silhouette as she waited for a few beasts to pass before pointing her board toward the beach, staying on her belly and cruising in on one of the lower swells. 

 

He followed her lead, belly-boarding after her to the beach, pushed along by a low wall of water.  He was weak and unsteady when his feet finally hit the sand but he pushed past it, dragging his board behind him, taking advantage of the short window before the waves turned vicious again. 

 

He felt like he’d spent the night sparring with Evander Holyfield but he trudged through the wet sand, eyes scanning the beach for mermaid girl.  It was full light now and there were joggers on the beach, some of them eying him with concern as he climbed up the stairs to the parking lot.  His jaw was aching and bruised from where the burly, bald surfer punched him the day before and he was pretty sure his board gave him a black eye during his time in the spin cycle.  The tear in the shoulder of his wetsuit and the bloody gash peeking through it probably weren’t helping either. 

 

He flopped down on the sand in front of his parking spot, sore, shivering, and miserable.  He didn’t think it was possible to bring his recent bout of self-loathing to a new level but there he was, half dead in the sand no closer to his goal and, judging by the traffic on the PCH, probably _really_ fucking late to work.  He sighed out loud and sucked it up, standing to unlock the car and unroll his back window to load the board into his Mustang.  He would shower and change at work to avoid getting blood on his dress clothes.  There was no time to run home first. 

 

A flick of red-brown hair caught Jensen’s eye as he sat with his blinker clicking, waiting for a break in the traffic so he could merge.  There she was, standing on the dirt shoulder next to a beat-up, faded red Porsche convertible that was badly in need of a paint job.  She finished toweling off her hair and started peeling off her turquoise and black wetsuit to reveal a tiny white string bikini top covering her mosquito bite tits.  She was just as lean and mean under the tight rubber as she was in the water, all swimmers’ muscle and deep, natural tan.  Blushing, Jensen averted his eyes like the Texas gentleman he was raised to be and considered his options.

 

There was something about this fiery chick.  She was a badass on the waves with the looks of a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit model.  Maybe she could be his ‘in’ to surf culture.  Maybe she would even agree to teach him a thing or two.  Either way, it was in Jensen’s nature to dig deeper, follow the lead.  He merged into traffic and passed her parking spot, pulling off onto the shoulder a few cars down the road where he could wait and try to snag her plate number.  So much for getting to work at a reasonable hour.

 

He watched her in the rearview mirror as she tugged on a pair of frayed jean shorts and a baggy, heather grey sweatshirt with a wide, deep V cut out of the neck.  She reached her hand up under the hem of the shirt and tugged off the bikini top one handed with her shirt still on.  She hopped in over the car door, still barefoot, and put her still damp, auburn hair up in a loose ponytail before putting the car into gear and veering dangerously into traffic. 

 

Jensen cut into traffic quickly a few cars behind, getting honked at for cutting off a black Lexus.  He snickered as he waved an apology to the other driver.  She drove just like she surfed – like a bat out of hell.  She weaved down several miles of highway before making a sharp left turn into the gravel parking lot of a joint facing the beach called “The Neptune’s Net.”  From the outside, it looked like one part family seafood restaurant, one part biker bar.  There was no one else in the parking lot so he couldn’t risk turning in behind her but he slowed down long enough to make a mental note of her plate.  He needed to do his homework first.

 

_______

 

“ _This_ is your surfer contact.  Seriously, Jensen?”  Jim scowled down at him as he and Agent Cortese, one of the team’s data specialists, pulled up surfer girl’s plate number. 

 

“Female.  Auburn hair.  Brown eyes.  5’7”.  119 lbs?”  Unlike his partner, Agent Cortese was giving him a nice little ‘atta boy’ smile as she rattled off his mystery girl’s driver’s license info.  “Hmmm, not bad, Ackles.”  She quipped.

 

 “Sounds like her.”  He confirmed.  The green glow of the screen washed over Jensen’s face as he read more of the info over her shoulder.  “Danneel Harris.  Born March 18, 1964.  Louisiana native.  Keep scrolling.”  He kept scanning the screen for something he could use, a hook.  “…speeding, parking violations…  Indecent exposure inside a moving vehicle…?!”

 

“Hot.  Very hot.”  Agent Cortese said, almost under her breath. 

 

“Wait, what?  A felony arrest?”  Now that caught Jensen’s attention.  “It says see adjoining file.  Pull that up.”  Jensen’s first impression of Danneel was that she was a tough chick but he wasn’t expecting a felony on her record.   

 

Jim, suddenly more interested, crowded over Jensen’s shoulder as Agent Cortese clicked through, skimming the data.  “Wow, this is great.  Apparently, she tied some guy up.  Nude.  Left the scene and failed to return for twenty-four hours.  No conviction.  Looks like the guy ended up asking the cops to drop the charges.” 

 

Jim laughed boisterously.  “Gotta keep an eye out for chicks who like rope tricks, Jensen,” he snarked.

 

“Very funny.  Keep scrolling.  I still haven’t found something I can use.  I need a way in.  She’s not gonna give me the time of day otherwise, believe me.  I pissed her off already, I’ve gotta find something I can use as a peace offering.”

 

Agent Cortese focused on the screen again, closing the report and scrolling further down until she reached the end of the page.  “What about this?” she asked, “Both parents deceased.  Plane crash.  San Diego, '84.”

 

Jensen’s mouth twisted for a moment as he considered it.  “Mmmm.  Yeah, definitely.”

 

 

_______

 

 

Neptune’s Net had all the makings of a crappy tourist trap but Jensen could tell by the chalkboard menu and the clientele that the locals had managed to keep it honest.  They didn’t open for lunch until eleven but he arrived a bit early to get himself in the right headspace before approaching Danneel.  He parked across the street at the beach and jogged for about a mile through the damp sand at the edge of the water, just trying to empty his head. 

 

Jensen was hardly a saint but there was something about this particular lie that ate at him while the plan simmered overnight.  Even though it was his idea in the first place, it felt like something he might regret later.  He could chalk some of it up as nerves but if there was anything Jensen was confident about these days it was his job.  The FBI wasn’t his first career choice but healing from a severe knee injury and subsequent follow up surgeries gave him a lot of time to think about what he really wanted for his future.  He steeled himself in the thought that LA was where he was supposed to be.  He hadn’t felt that way in a long time.  If he found the right path to the “inside” he was confident he’d catch a lead that would bust this case wide open.

 

Thighs burning from the run, Jensen wiped the sweat from his face and jogged back to the restaurant along the highway shoulder.  Traffic on the PCH was picking up now that it was closer to lunch but the parking lot was empty except for Danneel’s banged up Porsche, a faded green and white VW bug with bald tires, and a row of dusty Harleys.  He pushed his sunglasses up into his damp hair and smiled wide as he opened the weathered screen door.  The interior of the restaurant smelled like crispy fried things and sweet, salty sea air.  Jensen scanned the selections on the menu, stomach growling slightly, before setting his sights on his real target. 

 

The lovely Miss Harris was leaning into the kitchen’s service window, chatting softly with the cook, a short Mexican man in a hairnet with a thick, black mustache.  She was wearing the same high-waisted cut-off jean shorts from the other day paired with a tight, floral top that sat just off her shoulders, not a tan line in sight.  She looked his way just as he finished giving her a purely investigative once over, her face shining with a practiced “friendly waitress” smile as she spun around.

 

“Welcome to Neptune’s Net, what can I –” she stopped mid sentence as she recognized him, rolling her eyes and folding her arms across her chest with a huff.  “What do you want?”  She was not pleased to see him.  The red undertones in her hair haloed her face in the filtered mid-day light, making her pale brown eyes look unnaturally bright and wild, even as she gave him her best death glare.

 

“I’ll take the shrimp and fries.”  Jensen said, smiling again, sincere in his need for food and eager to get her past what happened the day before. 

 

“I mean what do you _want_?  Why are you here?”  Her patience was waning.  He might as well get to the point.

 

“I need you to teach me.”

 

“What?”  Her scowl deepened and her eyebrow arched skeptically.

 

“ _To surf_.  I need you to teach me.” 

 

“Give me a break.”  She turned back to the order window and shouted, “One order of shrimp and fries – TO GO!”  Facing Jensen again, she forced a smile, “Anything to drink with that, _sir_?” 

 

“I’m serious.”  He tried to let his sincerity shine through, he really did need her help, after all.  So far there was no crack in her veneer.

 

“I can see that but forget it.  Why don’t you stick to tennis or whatever it is you’re good at?  Miniature golf, maybe?”  Her face was hard and unforgiving as she mocked him, finally looking down at the cash register and punching in his order. 

 

“Here’s your receipt.  Your total’s $4.50.”  She turned on her heel after sliding his ticket across the counter.  She jammed the other copy on the order wheel and tried her best to ignore him as she waited for the cook to hand her his lunch. 

 

“Fine, but I’m just gonna keep going back out there until I catch on or I break my neck, whichever comes first.”  Jensen was good at being persistent and he wasn’t beyond pulling the ‘guilt trip’ card.  Danneel laughed and threw her arms in the air like she couldn’t believe this was happening.  She faced him again, staring him down and let her frustration get the better of her. 

 

“What is it with you, ‘Chet’?”  Her air quotes emphasized the ridiculousness of his new nickname.  “You suddenly got this bug to go surfing?  Please, for the love of God, tell me this is just a line, right?”  Some of the other customers were staring but she didn’t seem to notice or care.

 

“No, it’s not a line.  Just – ”  Jensen dug deep, reaching into the dark recesses of himself to conjure some real emotion.  He could tell she wasn’t one to buy his cheap attempt at guilt.  He had to use his only ace and hope it would get him somewhere.  He cast his eyes down, letting his lashes flicker as they marinated in the pause.

 

“Look, I just need to do this.  For _me_.”  She was still wearing an angry, skeptical grimace when he met her eyes again.  “See, I’ve spent my whole life doing what was expected of me, doing what made other people happy.  I did well in school, I played football, dated cheerleaders, went to the prom.  All that shit just because mom and dad would have looked at me differently if I didn’t.  I loved football, you know?  But my old man, he just took it so fucking seriously…  They always figured I’d go to the University of Texas, be a law major, just like my dad.  So I did.  Scored a football scholarship, too, full ride.  Played for the Longhorns, the whole nine.  My parent’s pride and fucking joy.”

 

“Well, isn’t that just swell?  Is there a point to this story?”  Danneel eyed him closely as he spoke.  He face had softened, despite her scathing, sarcastic tone.  He locked eyes with hers as he circled the final turn.

 

“So, two years ago they get killed in a car wreck and I just suddenly realized… all my goals had been their goals.  Not mine.  I hadn't been living my own life.  I realized I had no idea what I even wanted, who I even was.  I had spent all that time worried what they wanted from me, concerned about how they saw me.  Do you have any idea how fucking scary that is?  Waking up and not knowing who you even are?”  He felt the burn of tears pulling at the back of his throat as he spoke.  “So, now I want to do something for myself.  Something that maybe doesn’t make any sense.  You know what I mean?” 

 

Danneel’s eyes grew deep and moist as Jensen finish.  It was mostly true and it scared him a little to lay himself so bare, the weight of his own past pooling heavy in his chest. 

 

“I’d never even seen the ocean before I moved here a few weeks ago.  I didn't think it would affect me so much.  It’s like I'm drawn to it or something.  I want to do what you do.  It's the truth.”  Jensen looked out the window for effect, and to avoid having to make eye contact while he told her that last part.  He had a very real lump in his throat. 

 

“Fine.”  Her voice was husky but soft.  He looked back at her and her chin was tilted down, her eyes looking far away for a moment, until she realized he was watching her.  She toughened up, squaring her shoulders.  “Meet me here tomorrow, 6am sharp.  If you’re even one minute late I’m bailing on your yuppie ass.”

 

The cook called out his order and she went to retrieve the brown paper sack that was already starting to show a few grease spots from the hot oil clinging to the freshly fried shrimp inside.  She shoved the bag toward him unceremoniously.  “By the way, my name is Danni.” 

 

“Got it, Danni.  Thank you.”  He said grinning wide, taking the bag of food.  He plunked a ten dollar bill down on top of his ticket where it rested on the counter.  She was smirking now at least, softer than she’d been before but still pushing down the vulnerability that Jensen’s words had uncovered.  He almost felt bad.  Almost.

 

“Keep the change, ‘Teach.’”  His eyes said thank you as he flashed that movie star grin one more time, putting his shades back down.  “See you in the AM.” 


	5. Malibu

It was Saturday and, while the Malibu Pier was dead so early in the morning, Jensen knew it would be packed with surfers and families by noon.  Taking lessons from Danni under such public conditions wasn’t exactly what Jensen had in mind but he decided to just grin and bear it even though he wasn’t sure his pride was ready for another round of bruising.  He didn’t want to give Danni the satisfaction of his discomfort so he pushed past it with a big smile on his face.  Bringing him here today, in front of surfers that could match her skill, some of which were probably her friends, was likely Danni’s subtle way of getting back at him for what happened up at Leo Carrillo Beach. 

 

He could imagine her lecture before even hearing it.  “ _Look if you were willing to do something as stupid and reckless as that, this should be no problem for you, right tough guy?_ ”  Jensen was smart enough to know he had almost died out there.  He should just be grateful Danni was still willing to help him.  If he could put up with Agent Beaver’s shit, he would make himself tolerate whatever digs, subtle or otherwise, Danni could dish out.  This case might be his only shot to make it in LA and he did not plan on running back to Texas with his tail between his legs.  Not without a fight. 

 

In all fairness, Danni started him off easy, just the basics.  The stuff he should have learned before rushing into the waves half-cocked with a new board, all confidence, and no skills.  It was humiliating to be on the sand, a hundred yards away from the shore, practicing balancing and jumping up on the board while joggers and old ladies with their dogs passed by but Jensen knew he needed to get his body used to the movements.  He sucked it up and took Danni’s chiding. 

 

“If you don’t get this down on solid ground how do you ever expect to figure it out in the water?  It’s got to become muscle memory, something your body does without you telling it.  You’ve got to get to the point where you look at the waves and predict what they’re gonna do and how you’re gonna react.  Your body has to be on auto pilot.” 

 

“Got it, ‘Sarge.’”  He smiled and batted his eyelashes at her a bit sarcastically before repeating the drills.  She rolled her eyes right back but didn’t retaliate otherwise.  She kept him focused, told him when he screwed up badly or when his technique was off but refrained from blasting him with snarky comments on every little nuance of his performance.  The training was all repetitive and painful but necessary. 

 

They put in five hours that day before her shift at work and made plans to spend three mornings a week and at least one weekend day each week grinding after that, until he was good.  Well, better anyway. 

 

Between work and practice, Jensen’s muscles constantly felt like Jell-O loosely clinging to his bones and he had to force himself to focus on the rest of his caseload.  He slept like the dead and did nothing else with his time but work and surf.  It reminded of his time at Quantico, the one-minded focus made him feel powerful.  The weeks slipped away quickly until it was suddenly mid-summer and he was finally holding his own next to his teacher. 

 

In addition to learning the sport, Danni was a wealth of information about the members of the various surf tribes crawling the local beaches.  Jensen made ongoing mental notes of names, faces, and even license plates when he could.  He had begun to speak and act more like a native.  It was a little disturbing how quickly his soft Texas accent went flat and how frequently he found himself saying “awesome,” “radical,” and “dude” without forcing it.  His tan, freckled skin was wind, sun, and salt kissed, making him a bit pink around the edges at all times.  His hair was more blonde than the sandy brown it was when his official FBI ID photo was taken. 

 

His relationship with Danni had changed as well.  They were both cut from the same cloth of determination and intensity which made their relationship electric at times.  They knew how to push one another’s buttons and each had a competitive streak that made things even more interesting.  The truth was, the feisty, skilled little surfer had become a huge part of Jensen’s life.  He even found himself making a conscious effort to lie to her as little as possible.  Jensen wore the false parts of his persona so easily they fit like a second skin but the less he had to fabricate the better, even if it only served to assuage his own internalized guilt.  On top of being new and friendless in Los Angeles, Jensen didn’t make real connections with people that easily.  Danni’s friendship meant something to him because of that, even though he knew it was for the case and that it would end. 

 

She was there with him at the crack of dawn teaching him because she wanted to be, not because she had to, and he clung to that fiercely.  Back when he was at Quantico he had still been recovering physically and emotionally from the injury that put his football dreams to bed for good.  It made him even more aloof and distant from his classmates than normal and he found himself isolated and alone, pouring himself into his studies.  He had lots of friends in Texas as a teen but he was always acting, playing someone else’s version of Jensen.  The only person he ever let his guard down around was his younger sister, Mackenzie and he didn’t want to burden her with everything going on inside his head.  Maybe that was why he felt such a connection with Danni.  She seemed content with who Jensen really was, even when he was tired, cranky, hungry, pouting, or hurt. 

 

She never pried, never pushed him for info when he was being quiet.  She knew that he was from Texas, that he was an ex-jock that went further than most, and she knew he wasn’t into her in the way she assumed when he first showed up asking for lessons.  They had a lot in common when it came down to it, even if neither one of them was willing to admit it openly.  It was a good thing Jensen figured out long ago women weren’t really his thing.  He and Danni would fight like cats and dogs if they were in a romantic relationship. 

 

They surfed at beaches all along the coast to give Jensen an idea of the difference just a few miles could make to the ride – Venice, Santa Monica, Hermosa, Zuma, Redondo, just to name a few.  Danni was in tune with the water in a way that he was constantly in awe of.  The more time he spent surfing beside her, the more he started to understand it himself, even feel it becoming part of him. 

 

He began missing the water when he was in his suit and tie, missing the sun when he was under the fluorescent lights of his LA office building.  He started to dream about the water, sense memory of the waves bobbing underneath him, rocking him to a deeper state of sleep.  He dreamed of gliding graceful, like Danni, across the glassy green face of monster waves the size of Mount Everest.  He imagined holding his breath and swimming down below the waves where it was tranquil and dark, suspended between air, water, and earth.  Cool, blue water began pumping in his veins instead of thick, red blood and he barely recognized himself when he looked in the mirror anymore.  He was becoming one of them.  He wasn’t sure if it was just a snug fitting disguise or if it was who he really was underneath all along. 

 

That’s when he met Jared.  He and Danni were at Malibu Beach again, this time at sunset on one of her days off.  He was comfortable there now, holding his own next to his petite companion.  Danni no longer denied knowing him when he took a big spill.  They were less frequent now, anyway, so she didn’t have to that often.  The clouds from the morning had hung around all day and the slate blue sea was choppy.  The mushy waves started turning huge, violent, and impossible to predict.  They were only in the water an hour or so but Danni called it quits. 

 

“It’s closing out completely.  Let’s go, Jen.”  Danni yelled to him over the sound of the whitewater.  He nodded and followed her, head turned back toward the sea, tracking the unruly break.  Just as he was ready to point toward the parking lot, he spotted a lone surfer, paddling out past the huge waves that were barreling toward the shore.  The surf was building quickly as the tide came in, making a craggy, rough silhouette against the ruby red edge of sunset peeking out between the water-line and dissipating storm clouds.  The contrasting hues of sea and sky clashed grey, orange, yellow, and burgundy with a single black shape cutting across the face of the wave like a rocket. 

 

It was a hypnotizing sight and Jensen found himself stuck watching like he was knee deep in quicksand.  The giant swell pushed the kamikaze rider to shore quickly but the guy was a pro, cutting horizontally along the coast, intentionally barreling straight toward the pier where the sea surged up violently around the weathered pillars. 

 

“Who’s that?”  Jensen asked, knowing Danni had stopped behind him to watch as well.  The dark figure pumped through the pier pilings in a frenzied ballet of motion.  He was moving so fast that his long, dark hair flowed as if he were leaning out a car window on the freeway.  Jensen could see the impressive cut of the man’s shoulders and nipped in waist as he moved gracefully at what seemed like lightning speed.

 

“That’s Jay.  Uh, Jared.  The guy’s a legend around here, a real modern savage.  He’s even crazier than you, Ackles.”

 

It’s almost as if the board was a part of Jared.  The angles he pushed were breathtaking, almost inhuman.  Jensen could tell he was a huge guy and yet his movements were so elegant, it was truly a sight to behold.  Jensen stared on, mouth agape as he witnessed some of the most aggressive, talented surfing he had ever seen.

 

On the other side of the pier, Jared took another small wave, popping up with a vertical snap before skimming down the wall of water.  He caught an insane amount of air and still landed perfectly, carving across the bottom of the wave as it pushed him toward the beach.  Jensen marveled at how long and far the lithe man rode on waters that most would never consider possible. 

 

“Jesus, your jaw’s about to hit the sand, Jensen.  Roll your tongue back in, already.  Let’s go.”  Danni turned toward the parking lot as Jensen watched a pack of surfers rush toward the water, howling and shouting praise to Jared as he coasted inland.  It didn’t seem like the guy even needed to know how to swim considering how glued to his board he was.  

 

The sky had darkened considerably by the time Jensen finally pulled his eyes away.  He hustled across the sand to catch Danni as she made her way the mile or so down the beach toward the parking lot where they met up earlier.  The rowdy group of surfers that had been cheering for Jared had started a few big bonfires and several of the guys were tossing a football around.  It looked like a party was about to start.  Danni picked up her pace as she crossed their territory. 

 

“Hey, Danni!”  A voice boomed from behind Jensen, making him turn to look.  Danni doesn’t acknowledge hearing the man calling to her.  The voice’s owner jogged up alongside him.  Jensen knew at once it was him.  Jared, the Savage.  He had several inches on Jensen’s sizeable six-foot-two and Jensen couldn’t help but stare up at the surf god. 

 

The guy was the size of a tree, impressively muscular, and carried himself with incredible gravitas.  There was no way a guy that large should move with such cat-like ease but Jared managed it.  His skin was taut and nut brown, shimmering with beads of saltwater and a coat of sunscreen.  The man was radiating heat and it caused the fragrance of soft coconut, salt, and sweat to fill Jensen’s nostrils.  Jared was still breathing hard from his manic ride and his shoulder-length brown hair cascaded in still-damp tendrils to frame his stubbled, angular features.  He tilted his face toward Jensen as they walked, giving him a radiant, dimple framed smile, his gold-blue eyes twinkling almost fox-like in the low light. 

 

“ _Dan-ni_!!”  He shouted again even though his eyes were still locked on Jensen’s.  His gaze lingered just a few seconds too long.  Jensen cleared his throat and looked forward, training his eyes back on Danni and running his hand up through his still drying spikes. 

 

“Brah!!!”  The shout came from the other side of the bonfire just as a football whistled through the air right past Jensen’s head.  If he hadn’t heard the sound a million times before, he probably wouldn’t have recognized it, but Jensen’s eyes followed the ball instinctually.  Jared’s long, muscular arm swooped up to make a one-handed catch, as skillful as any Jensen ever made in his short but sweet football career.  Modern savage, indeed.  Jensen looked toward the ball’s origin and saw two teams of surfers playing a loose game of touch ball in the glow of the bonfires, backlit by headlights from a disparate collection of Jeeps, convertibles, and vintage automobiles. 

 

“Stop ignoring me, Danni!”  Jared smirked over at Jensen before he jogged ahead.  He lobbed the ball in a perfect spiral throw right at the back of Danni’s head with his board still tucked under his left arm.  “ _CATCH_!” 

 

She whirled around with an equally wicked grin on her face, backing up, dropping her board and diving sideways to make the catch.  She hit the sand with the ball in her hands and whipped it to Jensen.  It was a shaky pass but he chucked his board and caught it in that effortless, graceful way that was always his signature.  Muscle memory returned like he’d never left the gridiron.   

 

Jensen chuckled, riding high on the feeling of being truly, naturally good at something after weeks of having his confidence smashed into the surf.  He spun the football on his fingertip, dropped it on his foot, and kicked it back up into his hands.  That real razzle-dazzle crap that just flowed out of him, spur of the moment.  Danni rolled her eyes as she got back on her feet but Jared looked moderately impressed which made Jensen flush more than it should have.

 

“Alright then, I guess that means you’ll play with us then, huh man?”  Jared’s eyes fluttered up from Jensen’s hands where they were wrapped around the pigskin to lock onto his eyes.  There was heat there, naturally competitive, curiosity at the skill Jensen just exhibited, with the hint of something else too.   

 

Jensen held the eye contact and smiled, nodding.  A thrill traveled up his spine at the prospect of playing ball again.  It felt amazing, even if it was just some shirts vs. skins beach tackle ball with a bunch of surf punks with more enthusiasm than skill.  Jensen unconsciously rubbed his hand over his knee as he tossed the ball back to Jared.  At least he was warmed up.

 

“I’m Jared but pretty much everyone calls me Jay.  You look familiar.  What’s your name?”  Jared extended a broad, long fingered hand. 

 

“Jensen.”  Their handshake was solid and lingering, just like the eye contact.  Jared smiled wide.  The dimples carved into his tanned cheeks gave him an almost boy-like quality but his eyes shone with the intensity of a champion.  Jensen had a feeling they were going to end up on opposing teams.

 

Jared’s other friends gathered up as Jensen pulled off his rash guard.  Jared assigned them in teams of four with Danni on his team and Jensen on the opposing one.  Jensen grinned as it became clear he wasn’t just imagining the competitive streak in the talented surfer.  Introductions with the other players were quick and Jensen went into the zone, smirking knowingly, ready to prove himself a thousand times over. 

 

The teams quickly fell into formation on the makeshift field, bordered by a dozen cars, all with their headlights on pointed out at the sand.  Jensen crouched down, waiting for a snap from Zachary, a member of Jared’s inner circle.  He had a mop of dark, messy curls pulled into ponytail and a neatly trimmed beard, speckled with grey.  He was a bit older than Jared, powerfully built with a golden tan, and the guy had one hell of an arm.

 

Tommy sent the ball sailing high over the other players.  Jensen caught the pass and whipped the ball over to to the scrappy and fast blonde, named Chad, who made their first touchdown.  He could see as Chad celebrated his goal, that the kid was full of aggression, just like Jensen when he played high school ball.  Chad whooped and pointed in the faces of his friends with more intensity than required for the game.  Jensen was on fire too, chest bursting with power and pride.  He was pleased to see his team keeping up with him with only minimal direction.  He was a good quarterback and they were receptive to following his lead. 

 

He tossed a flurry of mind-boggling passes, every one picture perfect.  Tommy, tattooed and surly, scrambled in a wide ‘Z’ formation and caught Jensen’s pass, exactly as Jensen planned.  They made touchdown after touchdown, giving the other team a serious workout.  He wasn’t sure who was supposed to be keeping score but by his count his team was up by six points.  His teammates relished the attention and, spurred on by Chad’s rowdy behavior, hurled insults at their struggling rivals, high-fiving and bumping chests.  Jensen felt the pull of pack, tribal and strong, a first for him in Los Angeles.  He felt drunk on it.  He also felt the tug of Jared’s eyes on him as they played – looks of curiosity, aggravation, envy, but never anger.  They all had to be wondering where the hell Danni’s new boy-toy got off being so damn good at ball. 

 

Danni didn’t like having the tables turned on her and she was taking it personally.  Her moves had that angry edge of intensity that kept her just left of getting one up on Jensen.  He toyed with her as she rushed him for a tackle, keeping his speed low, enjoying the dance.  He let her chase him across the field, scrambling, ducking left and right, twisting her into a pretzel, play after play.  He tossed another touchdown to Chad, but Danni kept coming, sacking him anyway.  She was stronger and heavier than she looked.  All sharp angles and sinewy muscle as she drove her shoulder into Jensen’s ribcage with all of her weight.  As soon as they hit the ground, tumbling together in a flurry of sweat and sand, the mood lightened and they ended up tangled in a heap, laughing like kindergarteners.  

 

“Alright you two, get back in the game.”  Jared grumbled as he jogged past, setting up for the next play.  Jensen liked seeing the first sliver of frustration showing in Jared; it gave him a fault to exploit. 

 

His teammates got the ball into Jared’s hands early on and Jensen rushed him, not trying to hide his aggression.  Jared faked a pass and then ran the opposite direction with the ball tucked up snug under his arm.  Unsurprisingly, he was lighting fast, even faster on the sand than Jensen with his shaky knee.  It didn’t stop him from tearing after Jay in a flat out speed run, blazing past the others with a hungry focus, the need to win and dominate.

 

One of the surfers on Jared’s team, a muscular kid with a blonde crew cut named Brock, attempted to block him as he tore across the sand.  Jensen was running at top speed and hit Brock like a freight train when the smaller kid dashed into his path.  He smashed into the sand face first, with an explosion of sand and expletives as Jensen scrambled to regain his speed after their collision.  Brock flew back onto his feet whip fast, hungry for a payback.  He and Ty, the thick-necked fourth member of Jared’s team, attempted to catch him in a squeeze play.  Jensen saw it coming a mile away and blasted between them.  His felt his face twist in a scowl of desperation, the hunger to win swelling in him and owning his movements, sending him into full on juggernaut mode.  Danni was up again and in his path.  He saw hesitation flicker across her face as he sneered, continuing to pursue Jared at top speed.  She backed off and did her best to keep up alongside him instead of trying to intervene. 

 

Jared ran well outside of their established play zone, curving out onto the wet sand as a wave swept up the beach.  He looked back at Jensen, smiling like a demon, and increased his speed.  Jensen’s feet jammed hard into the water and sand, shooting up rooster tails of spray behind him as Jared changed direction and attempted to zip back into the established end zone.  He appeared to be aiming for a touchdown despite his illegal, out of bounds play toward the shoreline.  Jensen wasn’t about to let him have it, the cheating son of a bitch. 

 

Without thinking, he lunged at Jared, hitting him like a missile.  It felt like body slamming a wildebeest.  Jared was huge, muscular, and feral and Jensen was almost surprised he didn’t just bounce right off.  They smashed together into the surf, crashing and burning in a soggy, tangled mess.  Jensen’s heart thumped in his ears as he looked down at Jared through the shadows and spray, seeing glimpses of his tanned face, the flash of a white smile, and those dimples again, in the errant light from the fire and headlights. 

 

“The fuck you doin' man?!  Are you fuckin' crazy?”  Chad yelled at Jensen from the crowd that had gathered around them.  Jensen couldn’t help but chuckle at being called out by his own teammate.  Jared seemed to be a very charismatic leader and his friend’s loyalty was strong.  Jared looked up at his friends and flashed a fox-like smile as Jensen hoisted himself onto his feet, holding his hand out to help the larger man right himself. 

 

“Chill, brah,” he said, admonishing Chad.  “Don’t you know who this is?”  Jared took Jensen’s hand and got back on his feet, wiping the wet sand off the side of his face with his forearm.  “You’re Jensen Ackles, UT Longhorns, all-conference.  Right?”  Most of the guys had blank expressions on their faces, looking back and forth between the two men as Jared turned to face Jensen, turning the helping hand into a congratulatory handshake.

 

“I remember you.  Rose Bowl, three years ago, wasn’t it?”  Jared asked, panting and trying to catch his breath.  Jensen nodded, breathing hard, hands braced on his knees, as he tried to process the situation.  He was never recognized, not outside of Texas anyway, and even then it was a rare occurrence since he was injured and had to leave the team permanently.  He shook his head in disbelief at Jared, grinning and still breathing hard. 

 

Danni looked at him, equally shocked.  “No shit?”  She smirked, eyes a little quizzical, as if to call bullshit on the whole thing.  Jensen told her he had played football but he failed to elaborate on the specifics. 

 

“Jensen fuckin' Ackles!  Fuckin'-A!”  Zachary piped up. “Yeah, I remember that game, man.  You were on fire! They could not stop your ass.  It’s been a pleasure, brah!”  Jensen shook his hand too, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed at what a reckless jackass he had just been.  If Jared hadn’t been such a college ball fan he might have had his ass kicked by a gang of surfers and left on the beach for chum. 

 

“Something happened, right?  You got nuked in the last quarter?”  Jared remembered the part of that game that had been utterly life changing for Jensen. 

 

“Yeah, man.”  Jensen ran his hand through his hair, knocking out some of the sand.  “My knee got folded about, uh, ninety degrees in the wrong direction.”  He still got a bit of a lump in his throat when he had to recall that series of events.  While he was at peace with where he had landed, it was a time full of severe trauma – both emotional and physical.  There were still a lot of raw nerves.

 

“That's why you never went pro?”  Jared’s voice softened.  He cast his gaze down to Jensen’s leg, probably surprised he was willing to blaze across the sand like that with such a severe and somewhat recent injury. 

 

“Took two years of surgery and recovery to get back on my feet.”  Jensen patted his thigh.  “I missed my window.  Limped my through law school instead.”  Jensen grinned uncomfortably.  He did not enjoy being in the spotlight, especially in the middle of a lie.  His story wasn’t far off, even if he pursued a career at the FBI instead of law school, but the stakes were high and the reveal made him nervous.

 

“Hmmmm, a lawyer, huh?”  Jared pulled a tone of mock disgust as he side-eyed Jensen playfully.  “Too bad.  But at least you're surfing now.  So your life's not totally over yet, right?”  He laughed heartily and slapped Jensen on the back with his large, sandy mitt.

 

“Nope, not yet.”  Jensen smiled back, feeling more at ease.  The group made its way back up the beach, over to the bonfires.  The game was clearly over but there was no spoken winner. 

 

Jensen felt that familiar pull in his knee as he hiked up the damp sand.  It wasn’t quite pain, just tendons tightening up over the hardware that was needed to put his leg back together.  He smiled through the strain.  He was proud for putting himself out there, even if he’d have to ice his knee when he got home and would walk with a subtle limp for the next few days. 

 

Sure, his night started out as a lame ass attempt at being a hot-shot jock, but the friendship and camaraderie he felt afterward was nice.  He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it. 

 


	6. The Toxic Avenger

Jensen soared through the rest of the weekend on a confidence high.  He was finally starting to feel a little bit at home in LA.  He had a routine, a favorite grocery store, a favorite Thai place, and he had even met a few of his neighbors.  To top it all off, his undercover guise seemed to be getting him further than he could have imagined.  Even though he hadn’t uncovered any concrete leads, Jensen had made inroads with the inner circle of a serious Malibu surf tribe.  He’d hung with the big dogs, maybe impressed them a little, even if it wasn’t on the water.  He felt more like an equal now, not some clean-cut yuppie with zero skills or cred.  He was getting closer, he could feel it. 

 

The plan for Monday was an early morning surf lesson from Danni.  He was getting stronger on the waves every time she took him out on the water and he was eager for another lesson when she called him late Sunday night.  Before they had left the office for the weekend Jim mentioned getting in early to go over some lab results from the latest crime scene but Jensen was sure it could wait a few hours.  He’d make the lesson a quick one, giving himself enough time to shower and change in one of the skuzzy beach bathrooms. 

 

When he woke up for his customary pre-dawn jog, he was still riding the weekend high.  He was in rare form as he sprinted along the wet sand.  He was digging deep, feeling powerful, edgy, and rebellious.  As a consequence he ended up running later than he intended.  He sped through traffic to meet Danni at the Neptune’s Net.  He parked next to her in the empty restaurant parking lot and together they crossed the highway to the beach before morning rush hour set in.

 

The water was less than perfect.  The waves were low and steady with no guts behind them.  Regardless, the pair got lost in their routine and Jensen couldn’t resist tackling a few too many sets, even though he knew he shouldn’t.  By the time he and Danni were back on the beach, they were both running late.  Jensen peeled off his wetsuit and could barely even stand to look at his starched button-up and pinstriped slacks that sat neatly folded in the backseat of his car.  His cutoff jean shorts and thrifted sleeveless t-shirt felt much better against the seawater residue crystallizing on his skin.  He started the car, telling himself he would change when he got to the office.

 

___________

 

 

Angie at reception raised an eyebrow and popped her gum loudly as Jensen swiped his badge.  She didn’t stop him but would probably call Agent Morgan about his poor choice in office wear anyway.  He beamed at her with his best Sunshine State smile as he crammed the magnetic access card into the back pocket of his tattered shorts and opened the door, giving wide berth to his flame-painted surfboard.  His pink and black Ray-Bans made the fluorescent glare of the office light almost bearable as he walked down the hall.  Jensen kept his eyes on the front door of the Robbery Division as he crossed the expansive office space. 

 

His appearance caused an odd hush in the normal office buzz.  It reminded him the soft rush of the tide, like the one he chased that morning on his run.  Like one of those low, quiet waves that surged sideways along the sand as the sunrise cracked over the horizon with fiery light.  The OP logo on his sleeveless black t-shirt was the same color of that sunrise, brilliant orange, outlining palm trees in reverse silhouette.  The army of FBI analysts’ whispered comments and snickers twittered in his eardrums like seagulls bickering over beach trash.  He imagined that the portraits of Bush, Hoover, and Webster on the wood paneled wall to his right were smiling at him from under sun bleached bangs and neon-framed sunglasses. 

 

He opened the door into Robbery with a little more drama than necessary, the fiberglass surface of his board skittering loudly against the glass and aluminum.  Wester and Buckley’s smug little faces turned up from their computers at the commotion.  Jensen couldn’t help but relish the momentary confusion at his appearance that flashed across their expressions before Wester gathered his wits and cracked wise, his usual MO. 

 

“Wow, Ackles.  I’m impressed.  Almost didn’t recognize you.  Gnarly man, hang 10, brah!”  The dark haired agent sneered.

 

“Get a new routine man, surfer-speak isn’t really cutting it for you.”  Jensen quipped without making eye contact. 

 

Jim was sitting behind his desk, hunched over a stack of paperwork, with his back to Jensen.  Surely he heard the commotion caused by Jensen’s not-so-subtle entrance but was apparently choosing to ignore it.  Jensen propped his board up against the partition window, pushing his sunglasses back up onto his head.  Before he could even speak to his partner, the bullpen door slammed open, rattling the walls and causing his surfboard to slide loudly across the blinds before Jensen reached out to stop it. 

 

It was Agent Morgan.  God, this place was predictable.  He was glaring, eyes switching back and forth between Jensen and his stunned partner.  Jim looked at him sideways and rolled his eyes, sighing as he realized the source of JD’s wrath. 

 

“You two chuckleheads.  In my office.  NOW.”  His voice boomed, reverberating off the walls of the small office space.  Even Agents Wester and Buckley were silent, eyes trained down on their desks.  Jensen picked up his board and headed to the door.  Morgan stepped out of his way in a dramatic gesture, glaring at the giant surfboard and giving Jensen a huge, disingenuous grin. 

 

“How was the beach, Ackles?  Surf conditions okay?”

 

“A little mushy,” Jensen said with mock thoughtfulness as he made a left down the hall to Agent Morgan’s office.  He could feel the older man’s eyes shooting daggers into the back of his head as he went in and took a seat.  Agent Beaver and Morgan followed soon after, waves of anger radiating off both men.  He sat up straight and kept his eyes forward, bracing for a real tirade.  Agent Morgan didn’t disappoint.

 

“A little mushy?!  Do you think the taxpayers would like it if they knew they were paying for a federal agent to surf and pick up girls, Agent Ackles?!”  Agent Morgan roared as he paced back and forth in the space behind his desk. 

 

“Babes.”  Jensen said flatly.

 

“What was that?”  The veins bulging on JD’s forehead were almost comical as Jensen kept pushing his commanding officer. 

 

“The correct term is babes, sir.  This type of undercover operation is entirely dependent on picking up the speech idioms of the social infrastructure.  Otherwise penetration is not possible, _sir_.”

 

The words came out every bit as flippant as they sounded in Jensen’s head.  Morgan paused his pacing and stopped for a moment to gaze out at the Los Angeles cityscape.  JD took a deep breath, chest puffing out, hands clasped behind his lower back.  Jensen imagined he was doing his best to prevent his natural Type-A suppressed rage from exploding.  Like he was trying to avoid picking up a chair and throwing it through the window.  Jensen was impressed at the restraint when he finally spoke.

 

“Special Agent Ackles, this is not some job flipping burgers at the drive-in. Yes, the surfboard bothers me.  Yes, your approach to this case bothers me.  And yes, YOU bother me.”  Morgan turned, planting his thick, sweaty palms on his desk and glaring at Jensen and Jim.

 

“You two have produced squat in the last four weeks, during which time the Turtles have robbed two more banks!!  Do you have anything even remotely interesting to tell me?”

 

“I caught my first tube this weekend, sir.” 

 

JD’s head fell forward between his broad shoulders.  Jim elbowed Jensen’s bare arm sharply, glaring at him and giving the “cut it out” signal by sweeping his flattened hand along the underside of his chin.  The look melted the smile off Jensen’s face.  He got the message and bit his tongue, allowing Jim to interject with something helpful.

 

“We get the spectroanalysis back today, sir.  We hope that, combined with Jensen’s fantastic undercover work, it will get us closer to an answer.” 

 

JD stood up and tilted his head back, looking up at the drop-tile ceiling.  His face was flushed and the veins in his temples and neck were still bulging as he took another deep breath.  “My patience is paper-fucking-thin on this, Jim.  You better hope it yields something or I’m gonna send your ass to an early retirement and your partner back to his Mama in Texas.  Now get the _fuck_ out of here.”

 

_______________

 

“What, you couldn't have just left that ugly damn thing in your car?”  Jim grumbled, giving the surfboard a dirty look as if it had personally affronted him as they headed back to the bullpen.

 

“It sticks out, so I can't lock it.  Look, Jim, do you think I joined the FBI to learn to how to surf?  This was your lame-o idea in the first place!  You gotta back me up on this.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.  All I know is that we both better hope that sample gets us somewhere.  We lucked out when that Encino Savings and Loan guard snagged Michelangelo’s ponytail.” 

 

Luck was in their favor again.  Agent Cortese was waiting for them, perched prettily on the edge of Jim’s desk in a smart, emerald green blazer.   

 

“Thanks for waiting, Gen,” Jim said.  “Tell me you got good news.”

 

“Nice of you to show up, Agent.”  She winked at Jensen, shaking her head and giving his outfit a disapproving once-over.  “I have the analysis pulled up on Jim’s machine if you want to take a look.” 

 

She slid off the edge of the desk and sat down in Jim’s chair.  Jim and Jensen tried their best to look intelligent as they reviewed the graphs and numbers displayed on the computer screen.  Agent Cortese scrolled through the gas chromatography and spectrum analysis reporting from the tests.  She pointed out the columns of elements and compounds, listed as percentage-of-sample.

 

“We lucked out.  It was a long shot seeing as it was only one hair but this looks pretty promising,” she said. 

 

“Guard got his jaw broken for it.  Thank God we got something.”  Jim stood up and crossed his arms over his chest.  Frustration was evident in his posture, he was eager to hear what exactly the numbers were telling them.  

 

Agent Cortese read aloud off the screen, “One four centimeter strand.  Blonde.  Oily.  Slight wave.  Traces of several specific toxins.  PCBs.  Heavy elements.  Selenium, titanium and arsenic.”  She looked back up at the men, hoping the information was starting to click. 

 

Jensen shook his head as he mulled it over, his mouth twisting the new information filtered through his existing knowledge of the case.  “Guy's the Toxic Avenger…” he muttered.  Jim and Gen both looked at him, not sure where he was going with the cult film reference. 

 

“The beaches are always being closed because of waste spills, right?  And surfers are territorial.  They stick mostly to certain breaks.  If we can get some hair samples and get a match to a certain beach we'd know where the Turtles like to surf.” 

 

“You buyin' this?” Gen asked Jim, her expression still incredulous.

 

“No.  But let's check it out anyway.  It's gonna bug the shit out of Morgan.”  He smirked, running his hand over his beard and grinning. 

 

_______________

 

Jensen pinned a map of the SoCal coastline to the corkboard in the bullpen and started circling the beaches he’s surfed in red marker.  They agreed Jim would hit those beaches for samples and Jensen would collect from the beaches farther south, near Huntington, areas he hadn’t frequented as much.  If he was going to become a part of local surf culture, he couldn’t risk tipping off too many surfers to his real identity with shady behavior like snagging and bagging people’s hair.  Besides, splitting up would save them time, the chemical analysis was going to take at least a week to process after the samples were collected.  With Agent Morgan breathing down their necks, the faster the process went, the better. 

 

Both men had to get creative in obtaining their samples and the work was anything but glamorous.  Still, between yanking strands off unassuming surfer’s heads and snagging tangles from beach shower drains, it only took three days.  Jim scored a serious forehead sunburn and a reputation as a possible sex offender out of the deal but they ended up with samples from every popular surf beach from Oxnard to San Clemente. 

 

Agent Cortese looked pleased when she dropped the new packet of analysis onto Jim’s desk a week after he handed her the samples. 

 

“PCBs, selenium, titanium, arsenic.  The percentages look right.  I think you found your match.”  She says, pointing at the analysis at the top of the stack.

 

Jim put a big, black “X” over Latigo Beach.  It was right in their backyard.


	7. Latigo

_“Only a salt kiss remains of the drowned arm,_  
 _that lifts a spray: a humid scent,_  
 _of the damp flower, is left,_  
 _from the bodies of men. Your energies_  
 _form, in a trickle that is not spent,_  
 _form, in retreat into silence._ ”

_from ‘The Wide Ocean’ – by Pablo Neruda_

 

 

It was a gray, miserable day, rainy and unseasonably cold.  It wasn’t one Jensen would pick for surfing if it were up to him but the promise of a new lead had his adrenaline surging.  They headed to Latigo with a plan.  Agent Beaver would case the beach and keep an eye out for groups that fit the Turtles’ description.  He planned to hang out in the upper parking lot near the car with his binoculars, his radio ready to have dispatch check out plates if he spotted anything suspicious. 

 

Jensen was in his full wetsuit, board at his side, keeping his distance from Jim to keep his cover tight.  Latigo was situated in a small cove at the edge of State Park land.  The beach was narrow and steep with shower stalls and changing rooms sat atop a rocky outcropping that was peppered with scrub brush and other plant life.  Jensen made the descent from the parking lot slowly, keeping his eyes peeled and cataloging faces.  He didn’t see anyone he recognized.  The beach was pretty bare except for a few diehards, most of whom were already in the water.  The surf was grey and muddy, super foamy.  Waves crested high out of the mouth of the cove but they were too low and choppy close to the beach to make for a good ride. 

 

A lineup of surfers waited outside the break, silhouetted, bobbing like a pack of sea mammals.  They were hungry for those big, deep sea waves that hadn’t been choked off by the shape of the cove yet.  It reminded Jensen a little too much of his close call back at Leo Carrillo, putting his nerves immediately on edge.  He reminded himself it was for the good of the case and pushed his trepidation aside as best he could before paddling out to join them.  He sat astride his board, bobbing beyond the break, ostensibly waiting for a wave when he was actually letting his eyes search the surfers around him, clicking methodically from face to face.  It was hard to see with the haze and the spray but his patience paid off.  After about thirty minutes treading water, biding his time, the sun started to burn off the clouds.

 

A skinny, blonde man with a scraggly goatee and neon green board mounted a wave to Jensen’s right.  He was close enough that Jensen could actually see his face.  He looked familiar but Jensen wasn’t sure why.  He scoured his memory as two more surfers peeled away from the pack, seeming to follow Blondie’s lead.  Both men were shirtless, a brave choice considering the chilly conditions.  Both were muscular, one ridiculously so, and decorated with angry, militant tattoos – the kind of monochrome ink usually earned in prison.  A fourth surfer joined up with them paddling low on his board so Jensen couldn’t really get a look at him.  Four surfers, clearly a tribe, all surfing together – just like The Turtles?  Jensen wasn’t sure by any means but he was curious enough to swing his own board around and awkwardly catch a ride to follow the pack inland.

 

The modest wave carried him toward the beach as he balanced tensely on his board, more focused on watching the men than gaining any style points.  As he watched the men reach the shore and exit the water, it dawned on him.  He’d seen at least two of the men the day he nearly got his nose broken, before Danni taught him how to hang.  Blondie and Wrestler-Build were surfing the same break that he was, right before he’d crashed into the surfer that nearly broke Jensen’s nose.  Well, at least it explained the familiar faces. 

 

Once Jensen reached the beach, hopes of a lead evaporated, he decided to circle up with Jim.  He needed a pep talk before heading back into the icy water to take another set.  He walked up the steeply sloping beach toward the outdoor showers next to the public restrooms.  The sun was out and bright now, warming the air quickly.  The heated, fresh water shower would help him shake of the rest of the bone-deep ocean chill.

 

Jensen laid his board on the sand next to the shower station and unzipped the top of his wetsuit.  He peeled the top back to expose his arms, leaving his rash guard on, stepping under the first shower and opening up the valve.   The warm, salt-free jet of water hit his face and he splashed it up over his hair, raking his hands through it to rinse off some of the salt and sand. 

 

A moment later, Jensen heard the high-pitched squeak of the shower valve and the water stopped abruptly.  He shook the water off his head and wiped his hand across his eyes, expecting to see Jim, all too happy to fuck with his much-needed shower.  Instead, Jensen found himself face to face with someone he didn’t recognize. 

 

“Is this the guy?”  The man in front of him said, peering over Jensen’s shoulder at whoever was standing behind him.  The guy was shirtless, muscular, and tan.  His hair was shaved on the sides but long at the top, falling down his back in bulky, wet braids.  There was a giant, black swastika tattooed on his left pectoral muscle.  He was clearly one of the tattooed surfers Jensen rode in behind a few minutes earlier. 

 

“Yeah, it sure is.”  The voice behind him said.  Jensen couldn’t turn around without leaving his back exposed to Mister Swastika so he cautiously glanced to his right and left without letting his guard down. 

 

To Jensen’s right was the other shirtless, tattooed surfer – the one that looked like he should be in the ring with Hulk Hogan instead of riding a surfboard.  The guy’s forearms were the width of Jensen’s thigh and his shoulders were as broad as a refrigerator.  His arms were folded across his huge pecs as he scowled at Jensen.  He looked like a version of Mister Swastika that had been taking steroids for the past five years. 

 

To Jensen’s left stood the owner of the neon green board.  He had the same Nazi-mullet hairstyle as his buddies, only in blonde, with a scraggly goatee on his chin.  There was a black SS logo tattooed on the side of his head but, unlike his friends, he had the body of a speed freak, all sinewy and sharp. 

Jensen tried to relax, he wasn’t in a position to size up the goon, or goons, standing behind him so it was his best interest to stay calm and try to talk his way out of whatever trouble he’d stepped into.  He smiled softly and extended his hands open-palmed before he spoke trying to sound as humble and good natured as possible.

 

“Okay, so this is where you tell me all about how locals rule and yuppie insects like me shouldn't be surfing your break and all that, right?” 

 

The words instantly sounded more biting and petulant on Jensen’s tongue than they had in his head.  So much for diplomacy.  He turned as he finished speaking, trying to find an exit point, and finally laid eyes on the man that was bringing up the rear.  It was the surfer from a few weeks ago, the one he crashed into.  Jensen had jacked up the guy’s board and he’d gotten a bloody nose in return.  Great, a beef that had been given time to simmer.

 

“No, that’d be a waste of time.  See, you didn’t learn your lesson the first time and that was your only chance, brah.”  Blondie said as the others all stepped a bit closer, closing the circle around Jensen.   The one who’d punched him before cracked his knuckles and gave Jensen a wide, gap-toothed smile. 

 

“We're just going to fuck you up,” he said, sneering and rocking his knuckles into his palm. 

 

“Oh,” Jensen said, sounding resigned as his body slid into motion.  Time slowed down and Jensen’s training kicked in.  The men lunged for him but Jensen dipped low, sidestepping the attack and moving toward his board where it rested in the sand next to the concrete shower platform.  He swooped down and grabbed the tail in both hands, spinning blindly, swinging it in a whistling roundhouse toward his attackers. 

 

The board’s broad edge slammed into the side of the sinewy blonde, knocking the wind out of him and folding him in half over its waxed surface.  Jensen shifted his body around the board and used it as a barrier between him and the tank of a man whose fist was barreling toward his head.  The pile-driver of a punch crashed down onto the board instead of Jensen’s face, cracking the lightweight material and splitting it in two.

 

Jensen dropped his end of the board and lunged to break right, back toward the beach.  The move landed him directly in the path of the man with the swastika tat.  He reacted quickly, sweeping Jensen’s legs out from under him with a vicious, karate-style kick.  Jensen smashed hard into the concrete rolling blindly to get out of the man’s path and pounced back onto his feet quickly.  His elbows were scraped and bloody from the impact but otherwise he was unscathed.

 

Shock and anger filled the faces of his opponents as they realized how much they’d underestimated their opponent.  Jensen slid fully into defensive mode, skittering back into the sandy scrub next to the shower platform so none of the men could get behind him.  He bounced on the balls of his feet, keeping his adrenaline pumping, as he tried to anticipate the bloodthirsty pack’s next move. 

 

Blondie was wincing and still cradling his injured side but he swung at Jensen with a clumsy but powerful right hook anyway.  He was angry, desperate, and probably high as a fucking kite. The punch didn’t land, but it drew Jensen’s attention long enough that the biggest of the bunch was able to grab his arm, yanking Jensen into his grip and pinning his arms behind him.  Jensen winced in pain as his shoulder joints were pushed to their limits.  He spread his legs and lowered his center of gravity so he could to kick at the others who were preparing to take turns using him as a punching bag.

 

The man’s size had Jensen at a distinct advantage.  He felt like a grasshopper with his wings pinned to a specimen tray.  The other three descended on him, landing punches despite his strong but frantic kicks.  They landed hit after hit, pummeling his torso and head with blows.  One of their fists bounced off Jensen’s temple, causing his vision to flutter momentarily.  The men were anything but precise so it was just a lucky hit but Jensen was starting to get concerned.  He planted his feet on the concrete and pushed back with his legs, trying to topple the beast holding him.  The move was about as successful as pushing back against a brick wall. 

 

Suddenly there was a shout and flurry of activity as another figure blurred into Jensen’s line of sight.  It was a large silhouette, clearly male, and taller than Jensen’s other attackers.  He was a flurry of tan skin, muscle, and flowing chestnut hair as he yanked Gap-Tooth back by his long, wet braids and slammed a fist into his face hard enough to knock him to the ground.  The man fell with a shout and sputter as the mystery man slowed down long enough for Jensen’s wavering vision to focus.  It was Jared.  He was shirtless and barefoot with wetsuit pants clinging to his muscular legs.  Jensen’s knight in shining neoprene.

 

The two Nazi punks in front of Jared abandoned their buddy who was clutching his face on the concrete and circled the larger man while Jensen remained pinned.  He spun with remarkable grace, landing his right heel directly into Blondie’s cheekbone.  The man cried out, crumpling into a whimpering heap on the ground with his head down and arms wrapped around his ribcage in a protective stance. 

 

Swastika looked as if he was about to bolt and Jared wasn’t backing down.  Jensen felt Muscle Man’s grip on him loosen slightly and he used the opportunity to break free.  He shoved back against his attacker again, and the unexpected move knocked him off his balance.  Jensen pulled his lithe arms free and scampered to Jared’s side, making the fight even for once, two on two against the muscle-Nazi brothers. 

 

Jared raised his hand and his voice boomed, “Back off, Razor!   _Now_.  Just let it go, man.” 

 

Razor, the bigger of the two, bristled.  He took a step forward and rose up to his full height, puffing out his already massive chest. “Stay outta this, Jay!  This little twat fucked up Bunker’s board and now he’s surfin’ our turf like nothin’ happened.”

 

“Yeah, well, he's with me.  So _back off_.  Seriously, man.”  Jared didn’t back down.  He stared down his nose at Razor, clearly prepared to take the situation in whatever direction he needed to ensure Jensen’s safety. 

 

Razor and Bunker the men silently assessed the situation and backed down slowly, their stances relaxing as they glanced over at their buddies who were still panting and crumpled in the dirt.  Bunker extended a hand to help his skinny, blonde friend get up off the ground. 

 

Jared looked genuinely concerned at how much damage he dealt.  “You alright, Warchild?”  He asked the gap-toothed fucker who was holding his bleeding nose.

 

“Fuck you,” he responded, words muffled and wet. 

 

Jensen held his hand out and took a step toward the smug asshole that had him pinned and turned into a human punching bag for his buddies a few moments before. 

 

“Hey, man.  You’re Razor, right?”

 

“Yeah,” he replied as he eyed Jensen’s outstretched palm skeptically.

 

“Listen, Razor... I'm actually kinda glad you found me.”

 

“Yeah?  Why?”

 

Jensen answered with a lighting roundhouse that hit the side of the Razor’s face.  It impacted with a loud crack, hitting him right in the sweet spot.  Lights out.  The guy toppled backwards, flat on his back, crashing into the pavement with a heavy, wet thud like King Kong falling off the Empire State Building.  The others, despite their various injuries, lunged at Jensen like a pack of wild dogs.

 

Jared grabbed the back of Jensen’s rashguard and yanked him back, out of the line of fire. 

 

“Woah, woah!  Hold it, ladies.  Give it a rest,” he shouted as he dragged Jensen back toward the beach on his heels.  Jared snagged his own board from where he stashed it at the edge of the scrub brush and kept ushering Jensen forward.

 

“ _Let's go_.”  He turned Jensen around, putting his body between him and the assholes still out for his blood.  They walked quickly, stepping over pieces of Jensen’s ruined board, parallel with the other set of bathrooms and showers.

 

“Do us both a favor and just keep walking.”  Jared said over Jensen’s shoulder, grunting low and urgent in his ear.

 

They headed up the stairs on the far side of the parking area, weaving among the cars and motorcycles.  Jared looked back over his shoulder from time to time as they continued to walk to the end of the parking lot that connected to the adjoining beach.  They were both still thrumming with adrenaline and that hint of blood lust that came with bruised knuckles and open wounds. 

 

Jensen squinted in pain as he pressed his fingertips to the wound above his eyebrow, trying to keep the blood out of his eye as they walked.   Now that the sun was out the beach was filling in with locals and tourists.  Jensen realized how ridiculous he must look, bleeding and battered, a surfer with no board. 

 

“So those were friends of yours, huh?”  Jensen asked once he was fairly sure they weren’t being followed. 

 

Jared shook his head and sighed.  “Bunch of Nazis fucks.  They think they're some kinda death squad around here.  The last people you should want to piss off.”  Jared gave Jensen a reproachful, sideways glance.

 

“The big one that you decked is Razor Wiess. The slightly smaller one with the swastika on his chest is his brother, Bunker.  Tone is the blonde one and the guy with the jacked up teeth is Warchild.  Their brains are wired wrong or something.  They give nothing back and they have no respect for the sea.  They just want to get radical.  It's all mindless aggression.  They'll never get the spiritual side of it.” 

 

“Do you always talk like this, man?” Jensen asked, trying to lighten the mood.  “You're not gonna start chanting or anything are you?”  He smiled at Jared, grateful when his face broke into a wide, dimpled grin. 

 

“No.”  He laughed, shoulder bumping against Jensen’s.  “You know, I had just gotten there, hadn’t even hit the water yet when I saw what was going down.  Didn’t realize it was you at first.  Man, you didn't hesitate... they never backed you up an inch.  That's rare in this world.”  Jared sounded impressed.

 

“Yeah, about that…  Thanks for stepping in.  It means a lot.  I don’t have a lot of friends here yet and I know I don’t exactly fit in with the scene.”  Jensen felt awkward and vulnerable saying it but it was raw and honest, something he thought Jared would appreciate. 

 

“De nada, man.  De nada,” Jared said, patting Jensen on the back.  His hand ghosted down to the dip in Jensen’s lower back as Jared guided him diagonally toward the stairs down onto to the next beach.  The cut on Jensen’s eyebrow wouldn’t stop gushing and there was a gash on his chin that had started to burn.  Jared noticed and slowed their pace.

 

“There’s another set of bathrooms over here.  Let’s clean that up before you go back to your car.  Those assholes should have cleared out by then.  You don’t want to get blood all over your “lawyerin’ clothes” do ya?”  Jared’s mock-Texas accent wasn’t half bad.  Jensen laughed and nodded, agreeing that a pit stop was needed before they tried to leave the area.  The last thing he needed was another round with the Nazi surf punks. 

 

There were fewer people on the other side of the slope.  The bathrooms were down on the beach proper, set back so the tide wouldn’t reach them.  They were low, cinder block buildings with four individual stalls on each side.  It was all unisex so there was privacy, each room having a basic fresh-water shower, toilet, sink, and mirror – complete with a locking door.  The inside of the stalls were about as dirty as you would expect given the public nature of the facilities but there were paper towels and running water, so they would make do.  Jensen entered the first stall, surprised to feel Jared’s large form still close behind as he pulled a stack of paper towel out of the dispenser.  He tried not to read into it too much as he stepped up to the mirror to assess how bad the damage to his face was. 

 

It was hard to see clearly through the salt film and graffiti on the mirror but as he leaned over the sink he was definitely relieved.  Relieved and surprised he was able to get away with such superficial injuries.  If a punch had landed just a few inches up or over, he would have had broken facial bones and huge bruises that would take weeks to heal.  The cuts and scrapes he’d received were minor and after a night of bandages and Neosporin, they would be barely noticeable.  He dabbed gently at the blood with a scratchy paper towel and looked up, catching Jared’s eyes in the blurry mirror. 

 

He could see in the reflection that Jared was standing with his back against the door, propping it open a few feet to let some light and air into the shabby, concrete box.  As they locked eyes, Jensen wondered if the open door would ensure the mood between them stayed just north of intimate.  Maybe Jared was concerned that if he took a few steps forward and let the door latch shut, Jensen might get the wrong idea.  Truth was, Jensen was already having all kinds of ideas.  It was a small space and Jared was half naked, after all. 

 

“So do you really have to go back to the office after this, man?  I mean are you gonna tell them you got mugged or something?”

 

Jensen just smiled and focused back on his own reflection as he kept trying to clean his face.  He didn’t really want to think about what he was going to tell his partner.  His clean up job was going poorly.  It felt more like he was just pushing the blood around on his skin rather than wiping it off. 

 

“Jesus, man.  Let me help.  You’re a fuckin’ mess.”  As if Jensen had spoken his last few thoughts out loud, Jared shut the door and latched it, crossing the small space to join him at the sink.  Jensen turned to face Jared, handing him the stack of paper towel he’d been using.  They stood there, face to face, hips resting against the sink edge while Jared helped clean Jensen’s face. 

 

The silence between them was astonishingly comfortable, despite Jensen’s unintentional physical reaction at their close quarters.  It was silly to pretend that he wasn’t ridiculously attracted to Jared, not that his body would have let him.  The guy was exactly his type – tall, dark, handsome, intense – even if Jensen usually preferred them a bit older.  It had been over six months since he last got laid and the natural heat and charisma that radiated off Jared was intoxicating.  His skin was definitely flushed and, between the blood rushing south to his half-hard dick and whatever he’d lost out of his facial wounds, Jensen was starting to feel dizzy.

 

Jensen kept his eyes forward, focused on some patch of concrete above and to the right of Jared’s temple, trying to keep his cool.  His last relationship with a classmate at Quantico had ended badly and Jensen was very nearly outed to the FBI brass.  It would have cost him his career.  If that relationship was a bad idea, then the idea of pursuing Jared was Grade-A lunacy.  Every instinct in his FBI-trained cranium was setting off alarm bells but Jensen felt himself tilting further into Jared’s space anyway, like a vortex was sucking him in. 

 

When Jared seemed satisfied the blood flow out of Jensen’s eyebrow had stopped and his face was mostly clean, he slid his hand up the side of Jensen’s neck, tilting his jaw up to help him focus on the wound on Jensen’s chin.  He thumbed over Jensen’s jaw and moved his face closer to inspect the damage. 

 

Instinctually, Jensen grabbed Jared’s wrist to stop the motion and their eyes met again.  Jared’s held a question in them for a moment before flooding with the same molten heat Jensen felt swelling inside him since the moment they met.  Jensen maintained the eye contact a beat longer just to be sure he had the signals right, getting all the confirmation he needed as Jared edged his whole body closer to his.  This was it, last chance to turn back.

 

“Jared, I…” 

 

Jared’s hand skimmed to the back of Jensen’s neck and he pulled their mouths together, obliterating Jensen’s lame attempt at pumping the breaks. 

 

The kiss started shallow, just the whisper of Jared’s tongue sweeping between Jensen’s pursed lips.  Their eyes were still open, searching.  Tongues teased, lips sliding spit-slick together between swipes and sucks.  Jensen draped his arms around Jared’s neck and pressed up on the balls of his feet, mouth surging against the taller man’s.  Jared groaned low and sweet into Jensen’s mouth and leaned back, resting his ass against the lip of the sink, pulling Jensen’s hips flush against his. 

 

Jensen smiled helplessly into the kiss as he realized how easily Jared just maneuvered him.  The position and their height differences made Jensen feel like he was clinging to Jared like a damsel in distress.  It should have been embarrassing, even borderline pathetic, but Jensen whimpered into the kiss like it was the best thing he’d ever felt in his life. 

 

Jared’s body was rock hard against his but not from tension, the guy probably did yoga seven days a week.  It was more like Jared was holding back, keeping their kisses playful and shallow when Jensen kept reaching for more.  His eyes remained fixed on Jensen’s face, even as Jensen’s own eyes slipped closed and his cock thickened, rock hard against the jut of Jared’s hip. 

 

Jensen pulled back for a moment, searching Jared’s face again as he yanked off the thin nylon and spandex sheath that was stretched taut over his chest.  He wanted to feel Jared’s skin against his, the subtle scratch of Jared’s chest hair tangling with his own, injecting some closeness into the cold concrete box surrounding them. 

 

Jensen ran his tongue between Jared’s lips, a promise of things to come, before sinking to his knees.  He dragged his hands down Jared’s expansive chest and over his washboard abs.  His fingers teased over the bulge straining against Jared’s neoprene wetsuit bottoms.  Jensen knew his breath couldn’t be felt through the thick, insulated material so he improvised, running his cheek against the swell of Jared’s cock instead.  He ran his hands up Jared’s tree trunk thighs and cupped his right hand over the ridge it, squeezing and looking up, asking wordlessly for Jared’s help freeing it. 

 

Jared’s thumbs bumped against where Jensen’s fingers were curled up over the edge of Jared’s wetsuit.  They slotted in beside them to help tug the neoprene down Jared’s narrow hips.  Together, they rucked the thick material down far enough for Jared to reach in with his right hand.  He hooked his thumb over the base of his dick and curled his long fingers down around his ball sack, shoving the rubber down with his free hand and pulling himself out. 

 

Jensen gawked, slack jawed and wet lipped, at the sheer size and beauty of Jared’s erection.  He desperately wanted to taste it, feel its weight and heat on his tongue.  Jared gazed down at him and bit his lip, thumbing over his shaft again.  He cradled Jensen’s cheek with his other hand, moving his hips forward to rub the tip gently across the plush swell of his mouth.  Jensen’s tongue flicked out, swiping over the slit, lapping up the bead of slick that had formed and eliciting a slight groan from Jared. 

 

He continued to rub the head back and forth gently over Jensen’s wet mouth.  The tip was pulsing, angry red, and dripping precome, all signs that Jared was as desperate to be in Jensen’s mouth as he was to take it.  Jensen cupped Jared’s balls tugging them slightly and pulling forward, opening his mouth as Jared’s thick cock slid in, stretching his lips wide. 

 

Jared’s hands combed through the sides of Jensen’s hair and his pelvis tilted forward slowly as Jensen accepted him, swallowing around the huge intrusion.  He was out of practice but he swallowed hard and arched his neck, taking the bulbous tip of Jared’s cock into this throat as far as he could.  He fought back against his gag reflex as it bumped bluntly against his soft palate.

 

“Christ, Jen –” Jared’s words were cut short with a gasp as Jensen created suction and started pulling back.  He gulped around it as his mouth filled with saliva and let his tongue surge up to drag along the underside of the shaft.  Pleased by Jared’s reaction, he got a rhythm going.  It got easier to take and he was encouraged by the gentle guidance of Jared’s large hands and the sounds of pleasure escaping his throat.  He held Jared’s hips, coaxing him to thrust, groaning around his dick as Jared fucked in and out of his willing mouth.  He let his eyelids flutter open to look up at Jared, humming happily at his expression of intense, meditative pleasure.  His eyes were closed and his head tilted forward with a smile of pure enjoyment painted across his handsome face. 

                                 

Jared’s breath caught in his throat and his pink mouth hung open, amber eyes glinting from under dark lashes.  His mouth twitched, forming soundless words, as if he were about to lavish Jensen with praise.  Before he had a chance, Jensen slid down as far as he could, the tip of his nose grazing Jared’s treasure trail.  Jared choked out a strained gasp and ran his thumb around the stretched-tight corner of Jensen’s mouth.

 

“So fuckin’ good, fuck…  Jen – God…” 

 

It was intoxicating, watching such a confident, controlled man come to pieces in his mouth.  Jared’s fingertips trembled and twitched against Jensen’s face and around the curve of his skull where his other hand was firmly entwined in Jensen’s sandy hair. 

 

Jensen’s own hips were rocking against the tight confines of his wetsuit.  He was as close as Jared was, if not closer, and he wanted nothing more than to see if Jared tasted like he imagined, earthy-bitter and saline-sweet.  Jared was fucking his mouth now, full tilt.  The fat head of his cock was brutally slamming past Jensen’s gag reflex.  Despite the spit and the tears Jensen loved it, feeling split open, used like a vessel.  He wanted to swallow every drop of Jared’s come like an offering.

 

Jared shuddered and Jensen felt his thighs and buttocks clenching beneath his hands.  Jared’s climax was crashing down like a fifty foot wave.  Jared tried to pull back as his orgasm surged but Jensen grabbed on tightly and pinned Jared against the sink.  He was thrusting shamelessly against the front of his suit now, wanting to come in tandem with Jared.  He sucked him down to the root again, throat convulsing around the tip as it started to shudder and release down his throat. 

 

The bitter heat of Jared’s come flooded Jensen’s senses – smelling, tasting, and feeling nothing but Jared.  He couldn’t swallow fast enough as it spilled over his tongue, trickling from the side of his mouth and over his swollen bottom lip, stinging the fresh wound on his chin.  Jared groaned through his release, fingers tangled in Jensen’s hair, thighs convulsing under Jensen’s hands.  It pushed Jensen over the precipice too and the wet gush of his own come spread across his trapped cock and balls, throat still full of Jared.

 

“God, you’re fucking amazing.”  Jared whimpered as Jensen licked sucked and licked the last traces of come off his softening prick. 

 

The awe in Jared’s voice made Jensen’s cheeks flush red as Jared released his face and braced himself on the edge of the sink.  The sand strewn concrete under Jensen’s knees, the graffiti marred walls, the strong odor of disinfectant hiding disguising the funk of human filth should have made him feel like a cheap whore, but Jared’s appreciation melted away all the sordid details and made him feel wanted and appreciated. 

 

He reluctantly pulled away as his knees started to ache, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand before accepting Jared’s help to stand.  A fleeting moment of awkwardness threatened to sour the moment but Jared pulled their bodies close again, groaning happily as he sealed his mouth over Jensen’s, licking in deeply to taste himself.  Jensen sunk into Jared’s embrace and they kissed until his lips started to go numb.

 

_BANG!  BANG!  BANG!_

 

The cinder block walls amplified the sound of a fist pounding on the steel door, jarring both men out of their blissed-out daze. 

 

“Anyone in there?”  A voice outside called. 

 

“Uh, yeah man!”  Jared said loudly.  “Just a minute!” 

 

“Sorry, brah!  Just checkin’!” 

 

Jensen tipped his head forward, resting his sweaty brow against Jared’s sternum, trying to hold back laughter.  Jared chuckled with him, the sound reverberating through Jensen’s body, threatening to turn him on all over again. 

 

“I better get back…”  Jensen said as he finally gathered the willpower. 

 

“Yeah, sure.  Lemme walk you back to your car.”  Jared cleared his throat and tucked himself back into his wetsuit while Jensen splashed some water on his face.  He resisted the urge to take a sip out of the rusty faucet.  He wasn’t quite ready to stop tasting Jared just yet. 

 

Jared snagged his board from where it was propped against the wall, and held the door open for Jensen.  They walked back to the parking lot quietly, shoulders bumping a few times as they crossed the sand.  When they reached the stairs to the parking area, Jared grabbed Jensen’s wrist, tugging their bodies close again. 

 

“Hey, there’s gonna be some people at my house tonight… Maybe you could make it?”  The question sounded so casual but Jensen could feel the electricity still crackling between them.   

 

“Yeah, definitely.  Where?”  Jensen’s eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks as he looked down Jared’s rippling torso, fighting the urge to shove him against the sun-bleached concrete for another round. 

 

“Come with Danneel.  She knows.”  Jared replied, grinning as he turned and pulled Jensen up the steps behind him. 

 

The sight of his dusky blue Mustang in the parking lot sucked Jensen the last few centimeters into reality.  Shit, Jim was probably freaking out.  Jensen had been MIA for at least an hour.  He pulled his key out of the zippered pocket in his wetsuit and unlocked the door, dumping his rash guard into the passenger seat. 

 

“Hey, uh, you’re still bleedin’, man.”  Jared slipped next to him in the narrow space between his Mustang and the VW Van parked in the next spot.  He extended his arm and used his thumb to tenderly wipe the fresh drop of blood from the gash on Jensen’s chin.  The moment was so tender and intimate it sucked the air out of Jensen’s lungs for a moment, leaving him speechless and dizzy.  Jared’s eyes twinkled blue-gold in the sun as he wiped the smear of blood off on his thigh, sucking the red-tinged digit between his lips as an afterthought.

 

“See you tonight.”  He said, smiling softly.  Jensen watched Jared as he turned, tucked his board up under his arm, and headed back toward the shore.    

 

He had to sit in the car for a minute to calm his nerves before pointing his car north on the PCH.  He pulled a u-turn after driving a few miles, heading back to the main parking lot entrance. 

 

As Jensen pulled up, he could see his partner pacing the sidewalk behind the shower where the Weiss brothers and company had jumped him.  There was a squad car parked there too.  Its lights were flickering and the busted pieces of Jensen’s board were sitting like an incomplete puzzle on the hood.  He swung his car into an open spot and hopped out, bracing himself for an earful. 

 

“Where the fuck were you, Ackles?!”  The older man exclaimed, face red with anger.  Jensen held his hands up, bowing his head in submission as he walked up to talk to his partner.  He’d gotten lost in the moment and knew he shouldn’t have kept Jim waiting that long.

 

“I’m sorry!  I didn’t even realize you’d seen what happened.”  That much was the truth.  

 

“You left your gun and your badge in the fucking car and dropped out of sight for twenty minutes, ‘course I got worried.  What the hell happened?”  Jim flailed his arms, motioning to Jensen’s busted board. 

 

“Let’s just say I ran into an old friend.” Jensen said as he subconsciously rubbed his hand over his sore jaw.  “Thankfully this guy I met with Danni down at Malibu the other day saw them jump me and helped me fend them off.  He really saved my ass.”  Jensen swallowed thickly, turning his head and coughing when the bitter taste of Jared on the back of his throat almost made him smile.  “We had to get the hell out of there, man.  Did you see where they went?  I want to give them a closer look.” 

 

“Oh, I see how it is.  Leave me here high and fucking dry, worried sick, while you sneak off with your new ‘brah’ for the better part of an hour.  You’re fucking lucky I got those asshole’s plates.”

 

“We had to ditch the Nazis, Jim.  They were trying to fucking kill me!  What the fuck was I supposed to do?  Look, Jared is one of Danni’s friends.  The guy has a whole crew of surfers in his wake at all fucking times.  If I’m gonna be on the inside, this guy has to buy my shit.  It doesn’t help that he recognized me…” 

 

“What are you fucking talking about he _recognized you_?”  Jim’s face was incredulous and more than just a little pissed.

 

“College ball.  Guess he’s a UT fan.  He knew my fucking name, man.”

 

“Son of a bitch, Ackles!  I shoulda’ known better having you as the face of this mission.  What the fuck did you tell him you do for a living!?” 

 

The radio in Jim’s hand chirped and a metallic voice on the other end crackled. 

 

“ _Agent Beaver, we spotted your Jeep down at Manhattan Beach.  They’re on their way back north on the PCH_.”  

 

Jim’s face lit up.  The Nazis were certainly a tight group, definitely surfers, and were riding the break that was the source of their hair sample.  The lead was apparently enough to erase Jensen’s transgressions.  Jim slapped him hard across the back, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. 

 

“Let’s go, I’m driving.  This may have been worth the trouble after all.”  Jensen cringed as he adjusted himself in his wetsuit.  He would have loved change first, wash the come off his skin, and get into some dry clothes, but Jim didn’t have much in the way of patience at the moment.  He’d do his best to push past the minor discomfort.  It was worth it, especially if it got them closer to the Turtles.

 

The squad car that spotted the Nazis tailed the late 70’s olive-drab Jeep to a low rent street off Washington, in the run down part of Santa Monica.  Jim tossed the radio to Jensen as he drove there to meet up with the local PD. 

 

“This is Agent Ackles, tell me whatcha got.”

 

“ _The Jeep is registered to a Bradley Wiess.  The guy’s got quite a sheet._ ”

 

“Good deal, we’re en route to now.  Give me his greatest hits.” 

 

“ _Misdemeanor possession of cocaine landed him in Gateways.  After he got clean he was picked up for felony breaking and entering, felony assault, served just over a year in County.  Still on parole._ ”

 

“Excellent.  I'm lovin' it.  What about the brother?” Jensen asked, encouraged.

 

“ _Another model citizen.  Auto theft and illegal firearm possession.  Did time in County too.  I’d say these guys fit the profile, Agent._ ”

 

“Remember, all bank robbers are losers, but not all losers are bank robbers.”  Agent Beaver warned as they pulled up half a block away from the address dispatch had given him earlier.  

 

Jensen fished a pair of binoculars out of Jim’s glove box and peered at the porch of the brown stucco bungalow.  Bunker parked the Jeep on the house’s dead front lawn.  Jensen could see several of the men moving inside, just past the open screen door. 

 

“These are the guys, Jim.  I can feel it.  I say we lay it on Agent Morgan.”


	8. Flores Canyon

Agent Morgan was thrilled when Jim presented him with the information they’d gathered.  Finally, Jim’s endless hunches about tan lines and Sex Wax had yielded what appeared to be a solid lead that their desperate Supervising Agent was eager to explore.  JD said he’d have the warrant prepped by morning.

 

“He's pushing it through first thing, kid. You better get some sleep tonight.”  Jim cautioned as he dropped Jensen off at his car. 

 

“Sure thing, Dad!”  Jensen quipped through the open window after shutting the door of Jim’s sedan. 

 

Despite his partner’s warning, Jensen had no intention of calling it an early night.  The prospect of bagging the Turtles had his mind racing.  It was as good as downing a whole pot of coffee.  Even if he tried to act like a good boy and skipped Jared’s get together, there’d be little chance of getting any sleep.  His mind was made up before he even started the car.  He’d head home, call Danni, shower, change, and then go to Jared’s. 

 

Danni was more than game to go to Jared’s as long as Jensen agreed to drive.  After showering and putting some antiseptic on his wounds, Jensen threw on a worn pair of jeans and snug, black v-neck tee under a grey silk button up shirt.  He spent way too long on his hair and didn’t pull up in front of Danni’s apartment in El Segundo until after nine.

 

Danni was all smiles when she slid in the passenger seat next to him.  She was wearing more make-up than he had ever seen her in and her off-the-shoulder, bright blue, velvet dress was so tight it looked painted on.  While Jensen could certainly appreciate Danni’s beauty, he sincerely hoped she hadn’t gone to this much trouble for his sake.  Or Jared’s for that matter.  She chided him a little about his clothing choice and ran her fingers through his hair to loosen up the excessive amount of product that he’d applied to his sandy brown locks. 

 

Jared lived in Flores Canyon in a beautiful white stucco house accented with stone and glass overlooking the beach.  The place was a manicured, Malibu dream but the vehicles filling the driveway and cul-de-sac were not typical for such an affluent suburb.  Decade old convertibles with faded paint jobs, soft top Jeeps, dune buggies, motorcycles, and a dozen or more pickup trucks lined the street, all piled high with boards and other beach gear.  A strong beat thumped through the open front door as Danni and Jensen approached the entrance. 

 

“Nice place.”  Jensen tried to remember if Danni ever told him what Jared did for a living.

 

“He just rents it for the summer, gets a different place each year.  Ever since I’ve known him, anyway.  Always gets some slick place and throws it open to every surf burnout and beach bum around.  Most of these guys can't keep a job.  They aren’t even really Jared’s friends.  As soon as the swell comes, they're gone, just livin’ to ride.”

 

Jensen couldn’t tell if contempt or envy was threading through Danni’s words but either way, they headed inside.  Danni led the way through the throng of surf-rats and PCH Nomads dancing in various states of undress in the spacious living room.  Jensen tried not to look around too eagerly for Jared as he scanned the crowd. 

 

Raucous laughter poured from the kitchen.  Danni grabbed Jensen’s hand and pulled him behind her, toward the center island where people doing body shots with some high-end tequila.  He recognized Tommy and Chad from the football game.  They each had a girl perched on the marble countertop and were licking their way up their bikini-clad chests to salt their tongues before downing double shots of silver tequila.

 

Jared stood nearby, statuesque and stunning, as usual, leaning against a huge set of picture windows, moonlight flowing in behind him.  He was wearing torn white jeans and a ratty, black Dead Kennedy’s t-shirt with the neck cut out, revealing the golden lines of his clavicle.  His arm was draped loosely around the waist of a gorgeous, cat-eyed brunette in a white, halter top bikini with navy blue sarong tied low around her curvy hips.  Jared was leaning over, whispering something in her ear as he watched his friends drinking like hedonists in his kitchen. 

 

There was an equally stunning man in linen pants and a tan polo shirt standing at Jared’s other elbow.  He held a high-ball glass in his hand and his eyes were completely on Jared instead of the raucous crowd.  Whatever Jared said had made the woman laugh and he pulled back, satisfied, taking the glass of amber liquid from his male companion, sipping at the contents.

 

Danni bumped Jensen with her elbow when she noticed him staring.  She rolled her eyes at him when he finally managed to pull his eyes away from Jared and focus on her.  He felt like a jackass being caught staring but didn’t really feel like talking about why he was so interested in Jared or who he has on his arm.

 

“Admiring the catch of the day?”  Danni asked, tipping her head toward Jared and his friends.  Her inflection was almost caustic, enough to pull Jensen out of his momentary self-consciousness. 

 

“That sounds personal,” he commented as he studied Danni’s expression.

 

“People are expendable to Jared.  It’s just… frustrating.  It can be hard to be a part of.”  She stopped herself from saying more, something Jensen wasn’t used to seeing from his fiery friend. 

 

“Does that mean _you_ were expendable?”  Jensen was more than curious and beginning to wonder if he should expect more than just a bathroom BJ to manifest between him and Jared.  Danni shrugged and looked out the window, purposefully keeping her eyes off Jared and his new friends. 

 

“We were together for about five minutes... which is four minutes longer than most of them usually last.  But I guess I shouldn’t hold it against him.  Jared… He's just... different.”  Her eyes flickered over to Jared and then back to Jensen. 

 

“He thinks he's evolved to a higher plane of existence, or something.  I dunno, maybe he has.  His body, those eyes…” she sounded almost wistful for a beat, “who knows.  Maybe it’s just all his Eastern mysticism and tantric sex bullshit.  Who cares?  He’ll just ditch them too, he always does.”  She crossed her arms across her chest and sighed. 

 

“You've seen him surf... that frenzy.  It seems like anger but it's not.  It's the energy of lovemaking.  The sea is the love of his life, Jen.  Whatever he gives the rest of us, it’s not for keeps.  She's his only truth.”

 

“All she does is beat the shit out of me…”  Jensen quipped, breaking Danni out of her self-indulgent monologue.  She looked at him and cracked a wide, goofy smile. 

 

“Come on, let’s get drunk.”  She took his hand again and pulled him out onto the balcony. 

 

The deck of Jared’s place was spacious and sprawling, wrapping around three quarters of the house.  The yard below was a steeply-sloping rock garden.  Decorative plants and trees were interspersed amongst the natural, craggy terrain, all backlit for a dramatic effect.  There was a wrought iron fence at the edge of the yard where the incline dropped off to a dramatic thirty-foot cliff overlooking the sea.  The waves crashed loudly below and salt-spray filled the air with a scent that made Jensen actually crave the water.

 

Jared and his inner circle migrated one by one out to the deck where Jensen and Danni spent most of the evening enjoying the breeze rolling off the water.  There were a few of Jared’s rougher-looking biker friends out there too and, of course, the usual suspects:  Zach, Chad, and Tommy. 

 

Zach was sitting on the deck railing, legs swinging with a Corona in one hand and a joint in the other, gazing out at the silver shimmer on the black water.  Jared and his arm candy were reclining on some of the white and blue deck furniture next to a modular fire pit where wood crackled pleasantly, adding to the ambience.  Chad and Tommy were taking turns using the railing for surf practice, not the most intelligent prospect considering the steep drop down to rocks and shrubbery. 

 

“So you're in the face of a monster wave and it's twenty-five feet straight down.  Your balls are sucked up into your gut and the whole thing’s moving like a fuckin’ freight train, just roaring in your ears, drowning out everything else.  There ain't nothin' like it, man.  Forget about sex, it doesn't even come close.”  Chad’s tongue was tequila soaked and his speech slurred as he hunkered down into a surf stance, waxing poetic about the life-or-death waves he’d seen in his time.  The guy was probably in his early twenties but he’d surfed some impressive breaks, if his stories were to be believed. 

 

“That’s ‘cause you’re not doin’ it right,” Danni snarked.  She rolled her eyes and leaned back in her deck chair, clearly exacerbated by the childish bravado.  Her wit garnered snorts and giggles from the others but Chad was in the zone.  Tommy was right there with him, eyes crazy and distant, hopping up on the railing across from Chad and mimicking his stance.

 

“Yeah, man.  If you lose it right then, you're history.  The fish'll be pickin' you outta the coral.”  Tommy agreed, ignoring Danni.  He was grinning wide and nodding, neck loose and lips looser from the booze and weed.  Chad cackled with an absurd Pee-Wee Herman laugh and started to wobble on his perch, arms flailing.  Jensen reached out and grabbed Chad’s wrist, pulling him back from the precipice.  The young surfer dropped clumsily onto the deck and shoved his too-long, blonde hair out of his bloodshot eyes.

 

“Thanks, brah,” he said.  Jensen nodded and plopped down on the chair next to Danni’s and continued nursing his beer. 

 

“Big waves man, you can't just stop and coast in to the beach if you don't like the way things are going, y' know what I mean?  You gotta ride it out man, all the way.  You're ridin' a line between life and death. There ain't no forgiveness,” Zach ruminated, adding some soul to the testosterone-fueled conversation.

 

“So what's the biggest wave out there?” Jensen asked, genuinely curious, “Waimea?  Fiji?”  The closest he had come to a monster nearly took him out and these guys talked about them like riding one was the ultimate high.

 

“Nope.  It’s Rio.”  Jared suddenly joined the conversation, his voice giving the others pause.  He stood up and walked over to the railing, his expression dark and enigmatic.

 

“Shit, yeah!  I remember that day... gnarly fuckin' ass!  Was your birthday, right Jay?”  Chad’s enthusiasm was palpable, contagious.  “The set was northwest.  Jacking up like a fucking mountain of gray glass –”

 

“I made that one mistake you pray you'll never make…”  Jared’s voice trailed off, he sounded almost fragile for a moment.

 

“You shoulda fuckin' seen it... he fell forever, man.  Then the curl crashed down and he was _gone,_ ” Chad said.

 

“Got held down in the washing machine, man... it was severe, we couldn't see nothin’.  Thought it was all over for sure.”  Zach’s eyes looked distant for a moment as he relived the fear of that day.  His voice was tight with it. 

 

“That wasn’t even one of the real beasts either,” Jared added, “nothing like what’s coming up.  Fifty year storm’s almost here.  I’m gonna be there.  Walk out on that white sand, swim out into that cyan blue, and tame that bitch, show her who her master is.  Ride her when she’s givin’ me her absolute worst.”

 

Jensen watched Jared, transfixed.  The passion and intensity in his face, his desire for revenge and the need to overcome nature was hypnotic.  Jared turned his head and looked into Jensen’s eyes as he continued.

 

“It’s not tragic to die doing what you love.  You want the ultimate thrill, you gotta be willing to pay the ultimate price.”  Jared’s gaze flickered over to Danni for a moment before the others began whooping and hollering in agreement with his grave words.

 

“Fuckin' A, man!”  Chad shouted, punching the air.  “Hell, I ain't gonna see thirty.”  He said, proud and confident, before downing his brew in one long, intense pull.  Tommy jumped down from his perch and clasped hands with Chad, bumping their bare chests together and embracing.

 

“You aren’t really buying into this machismo bullshit, are you, Ackles?”  Danni said bitingly over Jensen’s shoulder.  He turned to answer but she had already gotten up and was swinging her hips as she walked back toward the French doors. 

 

“I’m gonna hit the head,” Jensen said to the others before following Danni into the house.  He was worried about his friend and indented to find her but there was also at least three beers worth of piss stretching out his bladder.  He quickly found the bathroom and groaned in relief as he emptied it loudly into the toilet. 

 

When he emerged from the bathroom he noticed that the party inside the house had thinned considerably.  Still, Danni was nowhere in sight.  Based on her exit he didn’t think she had any desire to join the boys back out on the deck again.  He decided to take a quick, self-guided tour of the house.  The kitchen, dining, and living room were all airy and spacious with bright white walls and nautical blue carpet transitioning to matte grey washed hardwood floors in the kitchen.  The furniture was all modern and understated with lots of faded whites, grays, and dusky blues with accents of dark wood and wicker.  There was no art on the walls and no family photos.  The space looked more like one you’d see on the cover of ‘ _Coastal Living_ ’ magazine than the home of the bohemian-anarchist leading man of a tribe of SoCal surfers. 

 

Jensen followed the long hallway past the bathroom and a few more open doors.  There were two guest bedrooms that Jensen could tell were being used by some of Jared’s crew.  They smelled like the inside of a jockstrap blended with patchouli, spilled beer, and bongwater.  The painted black hardwood floors were masked by bare mattresses and strewn with dirty clothes and towels.  A few tattered surf posters and a dartboard decorated the walls.  Too messy, nothing like the Zen little space Jensen felt Jared would cultivate for himself.  He may be a warrior on the waves but Jensen was sure a guy like Jared needed a nest around him, a home base.  Neither of these glorified dorm rooms were Jay’s bat cave. 

 

A stairway led Jensen down to the lower level of the house.  He felt a breeze coming up from the room below.  The cool, salty air carried the faint odor of Nag Champa or some other strong, spicy-sweet incense with it.  The scent cleared his nasal passages of ‘Eau de Stinky Surfer’ he’d just gorged on in the hallway.  He followed the fragrance down the narrow steps and through a beaded curtain, into what was obviously Jay’s sanctuary. 

 

Soft, blue light from the lamps in each corner lit the space and a sliding glass door that opened into the backyard.  He could see a stone path snaking through the ornamental plants and a staircase that appeared to lead back up to the house’s expansive deck.  The door had been left open a few feet and the night air, tinted with the scent of bonfire smoke, filtered through the gauzy, plum-colored curtains. 

 

The long, grey wall next to the door was decorated with a collection of framed photos.  A long, low table made out of polished driftwood rested below, holding a colorful collection of books and artifacts.  There was a brass statue of the Tibetan Buddha, a red and black pair of Maori masks, a two foot wide shark’s jaw, a blowgun intricately carved from teak wood, an assorted collection of shells and coral, and a small brass basin where incense was still smoldering.  Its odor was a mix of pungent cedar and sweet spice, a fragrance he’d noticed wafting off Jared himself.  Beneath the perfume Jensen swore he could still smell the earthy, masculine scent of Jared – sweat, adrenaline, and pheromones.  Next to the incense burner was an eclectic stack of books.  There was a coffee table book on Japanese woodblock art, a fish identification book for Australia’s Great Barrier Reef, a thick volume of Nietzsche, the Tao, the collected Arthur Rimbaud in its original French, even a copy of The Anarchist’s Cookbook.

 

Jensen chuckled.  If there wasn’t such a lived-in, effortless ease about the space, he would have sworn someone was just trying too damned hard to be cool.  Jensen cast his eyes up to the photos again, leaning in to get a better look in the dim light.  The pictures were all of Jared, sometimes alone, sometimes with friends, all engaged in an amazing array of activities.  Surfing, skydiving, parasailing, scuba diving, rock climbing, mountain biking, cliff diving, hang gliding, bungee jumping, kayaking – every conceivable extreme sport was catalogued.  Jared’s infectious smile framed by his boyish dimples stared out of the photos at Jensen.  The man looked like he was a natural at any hobby he put his mind to.  Jensen followed the photographs that lined the long wall toward Jared’s bed in the corner.  It was a low king-sized mattress piled high with pillows in varying shades of blue, black, and teal.  The space was curtained with mosquito netting and silk in various shades of white and grey, like Jared was trying to sleep in a womb of the sea. 

 

“Did you get lost?” Jared said as he pushed the sliding glass door the rest of the way open, smiling wide at Jensen. 

 

“Uh, sorry, man.   I was just, ah – admiring your wide array of hobbies.”  Jensen swallowed thickly and averted Jared’s gaze to look back, at the wall of photos. 

 

“You caught me…” Jared said sardonically, throwing up his hands.  “I’m an adrenaline junkie.”  Jared had ditched his punk rock t-shirt and his arms were crossed comfortably over his bare, tan chest.  Jared walked across the room and stood next to Jensen, looking up at the collection of photos, too. 

 

“So, is surfing your only hobby?  Besides football, I mean.”  Jared elbowed Jensen softly, chiding him a bit as they stood together, admiring the pictures.  Jensen saw memories flicker across Jared’s gold-flecked eyes as he glanced over each one, smiling pleasantly. 

 

“Yeah, pretty much...”  Jensen let his voice trail off and pulled his eyes away from Jared before he got caught staring.  He found it hard not to, Jared was the perfect mix of magnificent and mysterious.  His very presence awakened a part of Jensen he hadn’t really known existed, the part that wanted to know more about the world and live outside of society’s rules.  Jared made him feel like the rebellious teenager he was never allowed to be back in Dallas or some world-wise Renaissance man who had tasted exotic spices from a hundred different tongues.  Jared burned with passion for life but capable of calm, centered, realism that helped him lead and inspire others to seek greatness, look for their own truth.  It was hypnotic.

 

“You should come with us some time.  It’s a great rush, man.”  Jared’s eyes lingered on a photo of a group of men skydiving with their hands linked so they looked like the five points of a multi-colored star.  He could only tell which one was Jared because his stupidly gorgeous smile was shining like a beacon below the yellow goggles and bright blue helmet. 

 

“Uh, I don’t know, skydiving seems like a bit more excitement than I’m looking for,” Jensen laughed nervously.  He definitely liked adrenaline but he didn’t have a fucking death wish.  

 

There was heat radiating off the big, magnetic man next to him and Jensen was being pulled further into Jared’s orbit as if he were Jupiter or some other gas giant.  When Jensen turned toward Jared again, the taller man closed the space between them, letting his arms drop to his side. 

 

“I know that kamikaze look, Jensen.  Don’t back down now, you’re right at the edge.  You can’t be afraid to take what you want in this life.  Really live.  We only get one shot.”  Jared erased the last few inches of space between them as his large, warm hands sliding up Jensen’s arms and over his shoulders.

 

“Yeah…?”  The single syllable sounded pathetic ringing in Jensen’s ears but Jared just smiled warmly and pulled Jensen against him.  His lips grazed Jensen’s five o’clock shadow as he leaned in to speak soft and low, his breath mingling with Jensen’s. 

 

“You’re not lost at all, are you, Jen?”  Jared’s hazel-blue cat eyes wandered over Jensen’s face and he pressed their lips together, sliding his hand down into the small of Jensen’s back.  Jared kissed just like he surfed; tongue sliding quick and deep into Jensen’s mouth.  The kiss pulled the breath Jensen just took right back out of his lungs and he found himself pressed up against Jared, hands on his shoulders, straining up to meet his lips.  

 

Jared’s saliva was tangy from Corona with lime but somehow still salty-sweet like the sea.  Jensen’s head was spinning, except this time it was Jared, not the undertow, sucking him down to the bottom, disorienting him.  His mind was alive with excitement and just the edge of fear. 

 

Jared’s hand on the back of his neck kept their mouths close even as they gasped for breaths between swipes of tongue and lips.  Jared’s other hand ran up Jensen’s chest, thumbing over his nipple, swirling over it through the cotton when he found the stiff little peak.  Jensen groaned softly into Jared’s mouth at the stimulation, arching his back slightly as goose bumps chased along his flesh.  Jared’s hand trailed down over the curve of his ass, gripping and slotting their hips together.

 

Jensen groaned into the kiss, his head spinning, ready and willing to take this as far as Jared wanted when suddenly Jared pulled away.  Jared’s hands followed his withdrawal, tracing his jaw, thumb slipping gently over Jensen’s kiss-swollen lower lip. When Jensen opened his eyes Jared’s head was turned and he was looking outside, toward the sea.

 

“It’s time for a little stealth mission,” Jared said, his voice sounding far away, almost mystic.  Jensen cleared his throat, caught between wanting very much for their make-out session to continue and knowing he should put a stop to this for more reason than one. 

 

“Sorry, what?” Jensen asked softly, his voice somewhat ragged.

 

“It’s a full moon and the waves are fuckin’ perfect.  Let’s go.”  Jared pulled away, light as air, voice like a dream, and disappeared down the hall.  He reappeared a few moments later with a surfboard under his arm.

 

“Wait, you wanna surf?  Right now?”  Jensen asked, caught completely off guard.  He trembled with desire to be back in Jared’s arms and his mind buzzed with lust. 

 

“Yeah, man.  Come on, there’s nothing else like it.  The sea right now, it’s like obsidian glass…”  Jared was looking out the door again, that far away quality in his voice becoming almost unsettling. 

 

“My board got destroyed, Jay.  Haven’t exactly had time to pick up a new one yet.”  Jensen tried to hide the frustration in his voice, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck.

 

“I know.  This one’s for you.  I think Chad or Zach has a wetsuit that’ll fit you too.”  Jared held the sleek board out to Jensen.  It was about half the size of the one Jensen had been learning on and it was jet black with blue and purple ripples fading out from its sharp, pointed tip.  It looked like it was made to slice through waves.  There was no way Jensen was ready for it. 

 

“Jared this won’t –” Jensen’s protest was weak and Jared was already halfway out the door.  He looked back at Jensen, smiling and licking his lips, fire in his eyes.  Jensen followed him out back and up the stairs to the balcony.  Everyone else was already gathered in the driveway, readying their gear and loading boards into their vehicles.

 

“There you are.”  Danni said, eyeing Jensen like she knew something was up but couldn’t quite put her finger on what.  She looked down at the board he was holding and back into his face like he’d grown a second head.

 

“I know.  What am I thinking?  I can barely do this in broad daylight.”  Jensen was speaking to himself more than he was to Danni but she answered him anyway.

“Come on.  At least no one's gonna see how bad you are.”  She grinned, never missing a minute to ride his ass, slipping her arm into a wetsuit.  “Point break’s at Latigo.  You’re driving, obviously.”


	9. Stealth Mission

_“The falling wave,_   
_arch of identity, shattering feathers,_   
_is only spume when it clears,_   
_and returns to its source, unconsumed.”_

_from ‘The Wide Ocean’ – by Pablo Neruda_

 

 

Jensen borrowed a shorty wetsuit from Chad, the closest to him in size, and piled into his car with Jared’s board, Danni, and the gear she apparently already had stashed at his place.  Jensen didn’t pry, focusing more on what a dumb son-of-a-bitch he was to agree to night surf just to impress a guy he barely knew.

 

Latigo Beach was only a few minute’s drive from Jared’s at this time of night.  Jared and his boys were already there, lined up, watching the waves crash in when Jensen and Danni made it down to the moonlight-kissed beach.  Jensen parked next to the other vehicles facing the sea.

 

The full moon cast the scene in cold monochrome as Jensen and Danni crossed the sand to join the four figures near the waterline.  The ocean looked vast and silver under the black, nearly starless sky.  They stood with the tide lapping at their feet, eyes adjusting to the darkness. 

 

“You really don’t have to do this, you know.  He’s not someone you should be trying to impress.”

 

Jensen sighed, disappointed in his own transparency.  He wanted to bounce the comment right back at Danni, tell her it wasn’t about Jared but the lie wouldn’t form on his tongue, as much as he wanted it to.  Instead of wasting his breath on words, he clenched his jaw and charged past her into the water.  The icy foam shocked away the remnants of his buzz, raising goose bumps on the exposed skin of his forearms and calves.  He pushed past the cold and stroked powerfully through the black swell, his borrowed ebony board piercing the waves and he slides down the backside to where the others were waiting. 

 

Tommy, Chad, and Zach stood silhouetted against the moonlight reflecting off the water, waiting for the next set to roll in.  The waves were perfection: speedy, good height, great curls.  Shit, Jared was right.  The ocean beyond was calm, burping up well-spaced, shining black curls that scooped up the other surfers, one after another.  Jensen’s eyes followed as the men sliced across the mirror-like surface of the water, sliding up the face of their respective waves like ghosts moving off into the silvery distance.

 

Jensen turned to watch for the next set as a dark figure glided up next to him.  He could feel that it was Jared before he even saw him.  The guy moved with the water like he was part of it and his presence was larger than life.  He didn’t look over at him.  Jensen was too afraid he would lose his nerve and balk at the next set. 

 

“I gotta be fucking crazy,” he mumbled under his breath, shivering in the chilly Pacific.

 

“Yeah, but are you crazy enough?”  Jared said loudly, his voice carrying over the waves.  “Football’s a man-made game, Jensen.  It’s all numbers, rules, straight lines.  But in this, there’s no field, no opponent.  No rules.  It’s organic.  Just you and the wave.”

 

“Can it with the mystic crap, man.  I know all that.  Tell me something I can use here.”  Jensen couldn’t help the gruff desperation in his voice.  He saw the set rolling in and knew was his turn.  He felt fragile, like he was on the edge of a razor. 

 

“I’ve watched you once or twice.  You surf like it’s some kind of street fight, jerking along from moment to moment, always reacting.  Fighting everything the sea throws at you.  You’re always trying to win.”

 

“Yeah, it’s a flaw I’m trying to work on,” Jensen huffed as the set started.  He recognized the panic beginning to build in his chest, a sure sign that he was going to choke and end up head first in the black water.  He saw Danni in his peripheral as she caught one of the first peaks of the set, she shouted something unintelligible and waved in their direction as she passed. 

 

“The only way to win out here is to surrender completely.  Sync up with what the wave is doing and accept its energy.  Just feel it moving underneath you, in the darkness.  You don’t even need to see.” 

 

“Yeah, right.  Vision’s highly overrated.”  Jensen stopped focusing on the waves and finally looked over at Jared bobbing beside him.  The moonlight glinted off the moisture beading on his cheek and nose and his eyes were cast in shadow.  Jensen knew Jared was looking at him, not the waves, but he still sensed the incoming swell. 

 

“This one’s got your name on it, Jen.” 

 

Jensen looked back at the huge, glassy face of the perfectly formed wave.  It was enormous, black, and terrifying.

 

“Let’s go!”  Jared dug in with both hands, driving himself forward.  Jensen followed, grabbing the wave right behind him.  The swell picked them up and Jensen felt the familiar drop in his belly that came with the rapid rise.  Without even thinking, he popped up onto his feet.  There it was, that muscle memory Danni was always talking about.  The shift in weight propelled the sleek, pointed board forward in the water quickly.  Jensen stepped back, balancing his weight, somehow managing to maintain fragile control.  He was functioning on pure, adrenalized instinct.  His heart was pounding in his chest, banging like a bass drum behind the bellow of the water in his ears as he fell in line behind Jared, carving a mirrored path along the wave’s roaring, black face. 

 

Jared looked burnished and glorious in the moonlight.  The water glistened on the wide expanse of his bare back as it rippled like a jungle cat, fluid and feral, just like the sea around him.  Absorbed in Jared’s beauty, Jensen finally forgot himself and became one with the water, flying along the face of the wave and letting the momentum work for him while he watched Jared’s movements.

 

 Jared’s ease in the water seemed to be imparting itself onto Jensen through some sort of osmosis.  Jensen made long, floating turns up and down the sleek watery face, subtly shifting his weight on the board.  He kept his eyes trained on Jared and just followed him, like it was the most natural thing in the world.  He felt the power of the water under his feet surging through him, millions of gallons piling up behind him, propelling him forward.  Instead of fear he felt awe for the sea’s power and even borrowed a little of it to catch up to Jared. 

 

They rocketed through the night with giant white smiles plastered on their faces, howling with glee.  Jared looked back at Jensen, giving him a thumbs up before cutting left and dropping at an almost ninety degree angle down to the bottom of the wave, slashing back and climbing its face again.  Jensen tried it too, stomach dropping with the sensation of falling.  He slid down behind Jared with perfect choreography as the wave wrapped over them like a giant, black wing.  They rode the curl for what seemed like miles until it collapsed over them.  This time when Jensen hit the water, it was expected, and he let the cold arms of the wave embrace him unafraid.  He saw Jared swimming through the water beside him, like some sort of ancient sea god, with the speed and power to burst from the surface of the water like a dolphin.

 

He wasn’t sure how long they went at it, dancing that way, wrapped up in one another, being devoured and reborn over and over again by the sea.  He was vaguely aware of Danni and the others in the water around them from time to time but they all seemed to be giving him and Jared a wide berth. 

 

It was dreamlike, obsidian black with slivers of silvery moon and shimmery, white foam, as if they were riding through space, at the edge of some distant galaxy.  He stopped tasting the salt and feeling the cold.  It all became rhythm, motion, and power, like intensely introspective sex.  He acknowledged how he had longed to feel that oneness with the sea, recognized that deep need to be a part of her that had been swelling inside him.  That night, under the moon, he finally found it and it was blissful. 

 

Danni paddled up next to Jensen as he bobbed comfortably, lost in his thoughts.  He watched the distant forms of Tommy and Zach walking up the beach to where Chad had already passed out on a blanket next to the fire pit.  There was no sign of Jared.

 

“You had enough, hot shot?” She smiled at him, bright and wild, with her hair clinging in seaweed-like tendrils around her face.  She looked so soft in the darkness, so open and free, so different from the rock-hard façade she clung to on land.  

 

“Yeah, I think I just want to sit out here for a minute longer.”  He watched the lights twinkling along the shoreline as the gentle swell between waves lifted and dropped them gently.  His face hurt from smiling so much. 

 

“Look at you!”  Danni exclaimed boisterously as she watched him. 

 

“What?”  Jensen tried to turn his face away from hers, happy for the low light because it helped hide the red flush spreading across his cheeks. 

 

“Usually you have this sort of intense scowl of concentration on your face.  Like you’re doing all this for a school project or something.”  She drew her fingertip down his smooth, damp forehead.  “See, it’s gone.  If I didn’t know better, I’d say you almost looked happy.”  Danni’s words echoed her smile.  She wasn’t mocking him.  Jensen couldn’t see her eyes but he heard the sincerity in her voice.  He smiled back, honest and pure.

 

“Yeah, well.  Tonight was different.  Tonight I finally felt… It.”  Jensen stopped before he started sounding too much like Jared.  “I… I don’t know.  I can’t describe what I’m feeling.”  

 

As the word left his lips he realized Danni already knew. There was no mistaking it tonight.  The connection had been woven in the way he and Jared surfed in tandem, clearly on display in front of everyone.  It was more than the physical intensity they’d shared earlier that day.  There was a bond forged between them, under the moonlight, on those jet black waves.  It was like a tribal dance, speaking in movement and rhythm instead of words.  It was as if they had made love to the sea – _together_. 

 

There was a long pause between Jensen and Danneel, comfortable and almost tender.  Danni broke it, returning to the brash, boisterous girl that always knew which one of his buttons to push.  “Alright, I gotta jet.  Working the early shift so I have to get some rest or I’ll have serious bags under my eyes.  Not great for tips, yanno?”  She flattened onto her belly turned her board toward the shore.  She looked back at Jensen before beginning to paddle. 

 

“You watch yourself with him, okay, Jensen.  This isn’t just fun for him.  It’s his religion.  He'll take you to the edge... and past it.  If you let him.”  With that she paddled away, digging hard and letting the swell of the next set push her inland. 

 

Jensen gave one more look up and down the line of waves, trying to spot Jared before calling it quits.  The waves were cresting fierce and choppy as the tide began to surge.  The surf pounded in his ears and he felt his energy level dipping fast now that the adrenaline had subsided.  He was going to have a serious adrenaline crash once he got back on land.  He would probably want to sleep for a week.  He sighed, remembering there was a judge signing a warrant for the Weiss Bros at eight AM sharp.  It was well past time to go.  He bellied up on his surfboard and started to paddle toward the shore. 

 

“JEN!”  He heard Jared’s unmistakable voice booming over the waves.  He craned his neck back over his shoulder and saw him.  He sat astride his board, face luminous in the soft light, glittering with beads of water that clung to his skin like diamonds.  The ocean swelled under him in perfect silver and the sky behind him looked like black velvet fading down into indigo, purple, and pink.  The sight took Jensen’s breath away for a moment as he treaded water and he was no longer interested in what was waiting for him back on dry land.  Jared paddled toward Jensen, gliding up alongside him as he sat up to straddle his board.  They faced one another with the noses of their boards and thighs bumping together

 

“Come here,” Jared murmered, hands on Jensen’s thigh and arm, pulling Jensen toward him.  He happily leaned closer, smiling as Jared rubbed his hands up and down his exposed forearms in an attempt to warm his chilly, damp skin.  They slid up to Jensen’s shoulders and Jared pulled him to his mouth.  The kiss was salty, breathy, and it quickly escalated despite the terrible angle and unrelenting motion of the waves.  Jared’s hand caressed the side of Jensen’s face as they kissed, tracing the neckline of his wetsuit to find the zipper pull. 

 

Jared pulled his mouth away to watch the black rubber part with the zipper teeth, revealing the taught, pale expanse of Jensen’s chest.  He tugged it down slowly, stopping where it ended just below Jensen’s belly button.  Jensen eagerly searched out his mouth for another deep kiss as Jared’s hands spread the wetsuit open and slipped inside, edging freezing and wet along the line of his ribcage. 

 

“Those are cold.”  Jensen’s voice trembled, breathless against Jared’s hot mouth. 

 

“So, warm them up.”  Jared replied, sliding his tongue back between Jensen’s parted, kiss-swollen lips.  His right hand moved up and his fingers massaged Jensen’s cold-stiffened nipple.  Jensen groaned into the kiss and tangled his fingers in Jared’s long, wet hair.  The waves surged higher with the tide, pushing them closer to shore, making it impossible to stay tied together. 

 

“God, I want you…”  Jared gasped hungrily against Jensen’s lips.  Jensen nodded, reluctantly pulling their mouths apart, spit and desperate breaths clinging between them as they slowly moved apart.  They bellied down on their boards and paddled to shore. 

 

The beach was still dark but the sky was rapidly fading from black to violet as their bodies fell to the sand, still clad in neoprene.  The tide rushed up around them as they kissed, and it was every bit as ridiculous and intoxicating as Jensen could imagine.  He fell back onto the sand with Jared climbing up between his legs, kissing him deeply and raking his greedy hands down the skin tight surface of his wetsuit.  Jensen’s hands mapped every curve, every jut of muscle on Jared’s body, wishing he could melt the rubber away with his touch.  He needed skin, friction – wanted desperately to be closer. 

 

Jared had a swimmer’s body, broad shoulders and chest, nipped-in waist, strong, muscular thighs.  Jensen’s legs wrapped around Jared’s narrow hips and hooked just above his ass, pulling their erections together.  They were both rock hard beneath the thick neoprene and their cocks slotted next to one another as sea foam surged up, frigid and frothy, between their bodies.  The tide was rolling in and they needed to move, needed to hurry before the dawn came, bringing with it early risers jogging and playing ball with their dogs on the beach.

 

They grabbed their boards and scrambled to the still flickering fire where Jared’s crew had stashed blankets and towels for their return.  The beach was abandoned, Jared’s truck and Jensen’s Mustang were the only two cars left in the lot.  They stripped down in tandem, wordless, quick, and focused on this act that had been looming unspoken between them since they first laid eyes on one another.  Blankets were unfolded and wetsuits were peeled away from wet, sandy flesh.  Skin and hair towel dried hastily with the shrinking moon as their only witness. 

 

Jared jogged over to his truck in the buff returning with a dry set of clothes in his arms and a condom packet between his teeth.  Jensen yanked it from between his lips, eliciting a wide, dimpled smile from Jared before he kissed him again.  He was amazed at how warm and dry Jared’s skin already was against his still-damp and clammy chest.  Jared’s hands ran over the goose bumps on his shoulders and he walked them back toward the blankets next to the dwindling fire.  He pulled Jensen down on top of him, pulling him up so he could kiss down his chest, tongue flicking over his stiff, pink nipples before running down the center of his stomach, sucking and biting into the smooth skin.  Jared’s hand rubbed up and down Jensen’s thighs, thumbing over the jut of his hipbone, making Jensen bite his lip and thrust helplessly against Jared’s abs.  Jared pulled their bodies flush, hand soothing down Jensen’s arm to encircle his wrist.  He took Jensen’s hand and pulled it to his mouth, kissing soft and sweet over his knuckles. 

 

They watched each other, Jensen propped up on his elbow, turning his hand in Jared’s.  He rubbed his lips over Jensen’s fingers, lapping over them and sucking at his fingertips.  He took Jensen’s pointer and middle fingers between his lips, sucking them into the hot, velvet of his mouth, slicking them with his spit.  His hand slid over Jensen’s flank, down his thigh, pulling his knee higher to spread his legs.  He pulled Jensen’s wet fingers from his mouth and coaxed his hand down. 

 

“Get ready for me…”  Jared said softly, watching Jensen slip his arm behind his back to tuck up between his ass cheeks.  He spread the spit over his hole, teasing there with the tips of his fingers.  He arched his back, tipping his shoulder back to improve the angle, and slipped the tip of his index finger in to the first knuckle.  There wasn’t nearly enough moisture so Jensen pushed his fingers into his own mouth, licking them lewdly for Jared, glazing them with saliva.  Jared groaned as he watched, sucking his own fingers, wetting them generously before sliding them up Jensen’s crack.  He slipped the tips of his fingers around the one Jensen already had pumping in and out of his ass.

 

“So tight,” Jared huffed against his neck before flipping them over.  He rolled Jensen softly onto his back and sat back on his knees, pushing Jensen’s legs apart with his body so he could watch their fingers bump together over his pink rim.  Jared pressed his other thigh back, opening him wider.  He dipped down between Jensen’s thighs, breathing hot and damp against his balls, stubble grazing against his inner thigh.  He tipped his head closer and Jensen felt the pressure of his pointed pink tongue as it teased his opening alongside their fingers. 

 

Jensen bucked up involuntarily as his fingers kept working, questing deeper.  Jared’s popped in alongside as his tongue worked, sliding between their fingers, flicking against the wrinkled pink skin, pressing against them and trying to join in the stretch.  There was no rhythm, just pushing and sweat-slick teases, but Jensen groaned at the soft drag of lips, tongue, and fingers that threatened to send him over the edge. 

 

“Let me…”  Jared practically whispered the words against Jensen’s hole but the tug he gave Jensen’s hand was message enough.  Their fingers slipped free leaving his opening clenching and slightly loosened, begging for the slide of Jared’s tongue.  He plunged it in deep, surging forward, muscular and wet.  Jared’s hands pressed at the underside of Jensen’s thighs, tilting his ass up and pushing his thighs back even further. 

 

Jensen hooked his hands under his knees to hold himself open for Jared, accepting him as deeply as he could.  He groaned he was fucked on that talented tongue, closing his eyes and concentrating on the way it felt teasing him open, swirling inside the tight ring.  Jared devoured his ass, tonguing deep and fucking it open  Jensen’s cock wept and strained against his stomach as he arched his back and opened himself wide, letting  himself become lost in the pleasure, allowing the world around them evaporate.  Finally, Jared pulled away, panting, and licking his lips hungrily.  Jensen opened his eyes and looked down, as he heard the rip of plastic and the sound of latex being rolled wet and slick down Jared’s thick cock.  Jared sucked two fingers into his mouth again, wetting them quickly and sliding them fast and deep into Jensen’s licked-out asshole.  Jensen gasped as he was breeched by Jared’s long, thick fingers.  Jared buried them deep, twisting gently before pulling back out, flicking upward in search of Jensen’s prostate.  He found it easily and Jensen gasped, tossing his head back onto the blanket and arching his back.   

 

“God, yes.  That’s it.  Open up for me,” Jared growled as he watched Jensen’s hole greedily take his fingers.  His other hand slid up the underside of Jensen’s balls, squeezing and tugging, before wrapping around his needy cock, stroking until Jensen moaned mindlessly, writhing at his touch.  What little moisture there was had started to dry up so Jared spit down the crack of Jensen’s ass and twisted his fingers in deep a few times before adding a third.  The stretch burned but Jensen wanted more.   

 

“Jared, please – I need it.”  Jensen’s voice sounded foreign in his ears as his body thrummed with need.  Jared didn’t make him wait.  He climbed up between Jensen’s legs, pulling his thighs so they draped around his hips.  The blunt tip of his dick nestled wet and ready against Jensen’s ass crack as he folded down over him, hands caressing Jensen’s neck and face, kissing him sweet, deep, and reverently.  Jensen bucked up against his rippled stomach for friction, making him smile into the kiss, tongue swirling over Jensen’s when he slowly, finally thumbed the tip of his cock inside. 

 

Jared was big, bigger than Jensen had ever taken, but the adrenaline still pulsed in his veins and the attentiveness of his lover’s work to prep him paid off.  Jared slid deep inside, punching the breath out of his lungs.  Despite the latex Jensen could feel every ridge, every vein, as Jared filled him.  His back arched up off the blanket and his muscles twitched.  Jared stayed still, holding Jensen close and letting him adjust.  He kissed softly along the side of Jensen’s neck and teased his nipples gently, his large torso and shoulders like a protective cocoon around him. 

 

“Come’on Jay, fuck me…”  Jensen whimpered, tilting his hips.  His body was still tense but he craved the burn, needed Jared to work him open on his cock until his flagging erection was leaking hard and wet between their bellies again.  Jared pushed up on his hands and kept their faces close, his hair falling in still-damp tendrils around them.  He pulled out a few inches and slid back in slowly.  Jensen breathed in deeply, pushing past the sting, letting Jared’s spicy, earthy scent fill his nostrils.  He dug his hands into the cool sand at the edge of the blanket as Jared worked up a rhythm, builing speed and depth with each thrust. 

 

“That’s it, nice and open for me now, babe…” Jared whispered soft and low against Jensen’s neck.  “Takin’ it all…” 

 

“Fuck yes, want it – God, ‘s so fuckin’ big, Jay – fuck me.”  Jensen groaned, feeling Jared slide deep in his guts.  He clawed at Jared’s ass and bucked into him, wanting it deeper and harder, needing everything Jared had to give.  Jared rocked back on his knees and pushed Jensen’s thighs open for a better view as he jacked Jensen’s cock in time with his thrusts. 

 

Jensen watched Jared’s hungry, burning eyes as his mask of Zen wisdom slipped down and the feral, aboriginal beast hiding inside burst free.  He licked his lips, biting the bottom one as he watched his cock breeching the soft pink flesh he’d worked pliant with his mouth.  His fingers dug into Jensen’s ass and he pulled his cheeks apart, pressing his thumbs alongside Jensen’s hole, tugging it open as he fucked into it.   

 

Jensen felt split open but miraculously whole.  Jared was on him, in him, filling every one of his senses, filling him utterly.  He felt like an animal too, sweaty and salty in the dirt, rutting hard, begging for deeper, more, harder, craving his release.  Jared was turning him inside out and he loved every second of it.  He was going to feel the ghost of that huge cock tearing into him for a week and he couldn’t be fucking happier. 

 

“Fuck, Jared – YES!  FUCK!” 

 

Jensen’s eyes flickered up at the man claiming him.  His smile was cat-like, knowing, and his eyes were the color of the fire that burned down to cinders beside them.  Jensen’s body was like a raw, open nerve and he felt the same thrill of waves surging under him as Jared’s huge arms hooked up under his knees and he folded his body almost in half.

 

“Come for me, baby.  Come on my cock.”  Jared chanted, panting hot and heavy into Jensen’s face as his hips jack-hammered into him.  The angle was divine.  The head of Jared’s dick drove over and over into the spongy ball of nerves nestled up inside him.  Suddenly, the urgent tremors in Jensen’s thighs, back, and stomach exploded, sending jolts of pleasure outward into his extremities.  His nerve endings were dancing, burning, and vibrating as he came; hot and hard, splashing come up against Jared’s chest.  He could feel every pulse, every pull of his balls as he emptied between them, quivering as his body clenched desperately around the giant prick still thrusting deep inside him. 

 

His throat was raw and dry as he gasped, face turned against the blanket as Jared eased back, letting his body unfurl.  He felt Jared’s hand against his ass, gripping the base of his cock to keep the condom on as he pulled out gently.  Jensen hissed softly as Jared exited but the burn faded quickly as he watched Jared strip off the condom and chuck it into the embers of the fire.  He climbed back up between Jensen’s thighs, his cock still hard and angry red in his hand.  He bent down and licked up the center of Jensen’s come splattered chest.  He stroked himself as he licked Jensen clean with long, wet, swipes of the tongue. 

 

“So fuckin’ beautiful Jen,” Jared whispered, climbing up to press his come-covered lips against his.  His tongue swirled against Jensen’s, bitter and earthy with remnants of his orgasm.  He sucked Jensen’s tongue deep into his mouth as he came all over Jensen’s stomach.  He groaned and grunted into the kiss as his cock pulsed against Jensen’s skin.  Jensen ran his fingers through it, tracing it over the lines of his abdomen, teasing it over his nipples, and sucking it off his fingertips.  All he could taste was the sea. 

 

They kissed until Jensen couldn’t tell where Jared ended and he began, until the rest of the world melted away and nothing else mattered but whatever this was.  Until there was no taste of come left, just spit and sweat drying on their skin in the cold dawn air.  The fire had died out and the sun was coming up.  It was too late for them to still be naked and tangled together on a public beach where anyone could find them.  Jared was the one that finally pulled away, smiling like it was Christmas morning as he gazed down at Jensen. 

 

“Don’t you have to work today, loverboy?” Jared teased before leaning in for another kiss, nipping at Jensen’s chin and bottom lip.  Light from the blossoming sky flickered at the corner of Jensen’s eyelids even after he let them slip close.  There was something else, something he was forgetting…  Fuck.  The fucking raid. 

 

Jensen almost choked on Jared’s tongue as panic washed over him.  He was gonna be late to his own fucking raid.  He sprung up, searching frantically in the sand for his clothes, his shoes, his car keys, trying to go in fifty directions at once even though he was stuck paralyzed with Jared looking up at him, more than just a little perplexed. 

 

“Fuck!  FUCK!  Jay, I’m sorry – I gotta go.”  He leaned down and kissed Jared again, needing that anchoring presence to give him the wherewithal to get his shit together.  Jared kissed back, softly, cocking an eyebrow at the sudden frantic energy. 

 

Together they managed to find all of Jensen’s stuff and get him dressed in record time.  He was covered in dried spit, come, and sand and he didn’t exactly have time to shower if he was going to make it to the Weiss’ where the rest of the strike team would be waiting for their warrant.  Jared gave him a last kiss through the window of his Mustang, watching him with a half smile with soulful, tranquil eyes as he drove away.  It was harder to go than it should have been but, as the sun crested fully over the hills, Jensen peeled off down the PCH toward the Weiss place, praying no one asked for an explanation.


	10. The Raid

Traffic had started to bind up as the morning commute began.  Jensen got off of the narrow Pacific Coast Highway as soon as he was in Santa Monica proper, tearing down residential streets and cutting a zig-zag path across the suburb.  When he finally arrived, he pulled his Mustang behind several unmarked FBI sedans that were parked in the alley across the street.  There were no agents in sight. 

 

Jensen quickly buttoned and tucked in the grey button up he’d worn to Jared’s the night before.  He smoothed his hands over the wrinkled surface, trying in vain to look more presentable.  He jammed his Beretta into the back waistband of his pants and grabbed a walkie-talkie from the charging rack in one of the fed cruisers feeling remarkably focused considering the all-nighter he just pulled. 

 

He jogged down the alleyway parallel to the street where the Nazi punks lived, searching for his team.  Aside from a dog barking and the soft din of the highway in the distance, it was quiet.  Most of the residents had already left for work or were still fast asleep.  As he reached the end of the block, Jensen finally spotted Agents Buckley and Wester.  They were standing along with two other officers, talking in a close group next to the white stucco wall of a run-down duplex.   

 

“You called for backup?”  Jensen quipped in a low whisper as he approached the group.  He thanked his lucky stars that his partner was nowhere to be seen.  There was no way Jim would let his cocky bullshit, even if it was aimed at chuckleheads like Travis and AJ, considering Jensen was late for his own raid. 

 

“You’re late, Ackles.  Your warrant got here an hour ago.”  Travis barked, stating the obvious. 

 

“Kudos to the judge for being more of a morning person than I am.”  Jensen smiled, trying to shrug off his tardiness.  The walkie-talkie in Travis’ hand chirped, as if on cue.  Jim’s voice crackled in a harsh whisper on the other end.

 

“ _Did my worthless jackass of a partner ever show up?_ ” 

 

“Right here, partner.” Jensen replied into his own walkie. “You didn’t really think I’d leave all the excitement for you, did you?  Now, where do you need me?”  Jensen found it much easier to be glib when Agent Beaver wasn’t staring at him, arms crossed over his chest, with that signature not-angry-but-disappointed grimace on his face. 

 

“ _Good of you to join us, shithead_.”  Beaver barked roughly through the radio.  “ _Travis and AJ are going to cover the back door and I’m going in the front.  For now, I want you at the side window by the hedges.  You're strictly backup, got it?_ ”

 

“Got it, Jim.”  The Weiss’ may have been his lead but he wasn’t going to try and assert dominance now.  He didn’t have the strength or the will.  He was running on zero sleep, body fueled by pure adrenaline and fucked-out bliss.  He didn’t even have any caffeine in his system to narrow his focus and his knees were starting to tremble like new born lamb.  His confidence was waning and he felt feeling more green and unprepared than ever. 

 

“ _Alright, kids.  Get into position, I’m going in.  Over,”_  Jim whispered, signing off. 

 

AJ handed Jensen a pair of binoculars and he ducked around the corner, focusing in on the bungalow his partner was getting ready to approach.  Jim stepped out from behind the neighbor’s fence and pulled his loose, salmon pink Hawaiian shirt down over the wire taped to his chest.  Jensen saw the glint of Jim’s .38 tucked into the small holster at his side.  He kept Jim in view as he walked along the sidewalk toward the Weiss house a few doors down.  He was wearing brown cut-off Dockers and sandals, and was carrying a leash that formerly belonged to a small dog. 

 

“Here Scooby!”  Jim yelled, pausing for a moment to clap his hands and whistle, really hamming it up.  “Where are you boy?  Here Scooby!!  You furball piece of shit.” 

 

Before Agent Beaver reached the door, Agents Wester and Buckley snapped around the corner and sprinted across the street, staying low to the ground before ducking down the house’s side yard.  The officers accompanying them headed to their vantage points as well, leaving Jensen to find his way over to the side window.  He walked casually to the end of the block, crossed the street, and swung into the alley that ran behind the house.  He kept his eyes open but tried to look as much like a pedestrian as possible since he was already dressed the part.  He even gave a causal wave and nod to the Weiss’ elderly neighbor who was outside trimming hedges in his adjoining backyard.  Once out of the man’s sight, he doubled back and slipped into the backyard through the open gate.  There was a tall, untrimmed hedge wrapping around the side of the house, partially obscuring the side window Jim asked him to cover.  He got low and crossed the patchy, brown grass to duck beneath it. 

 

The window was open a few inches, but the blinds were down which should prevent anyone inside from seeing him looking in.  Taking a deep breath, he flattened his back against the cheap siding and craned his neck around to look in.  Once his eyes adjusted to the dim light inside the house, Jensen spotted the sinewy blonde with the SS tattoo – the one Jared called Tone – lying on his bed, headphones pumping speed metal into his ears.  Jensen could tell he wasn’t asleep even though his eyes were screwed shut.  His muscles were tense and vibrating in tune with the music which was cranked up loud enough to be heard outside.  These guys didn’t exactly strike Jensen as early risers, even if the waves were often better just as the tide came in.  Tone seemed more like he might be on the tail end of a speed binge, trying to come down and sleep. 

 

Given the guy’s obliviousness, Jensen dared to try for a better view to see if anyone else was in the room.  He could see that the door to the bedroom was open and across the hall the bathroom door was open as well.  The shower was on and he could see the silhouette of a curvaceous woman with long hair moving behind the rippled glass of the shower door.  He watched quietly for a few moments, waiting for one of the others to make themselves know, before he heard the shrill clang of the doorbell.  The woman in the shower kept on showering, working soap in her hair, and the Nazi speed freak on the bed was too zoned out and deafened by thrash metal to notice the sound.  Jensen heard Jim’s voice, booming clearly down the hallway. 

 

“So sorry to bother you ma’am but have you seen a little dog?  It’s a cockapoo lookin’ thing, about yea big.”  Jensen could picture Agent Beaver giving whoever was at the door his biggest, cheesiest grin, measuring out the dog’s size between his meaty hands.  He heard a woman’s voice, harsh and angry, barking back at Jim but she was facing his partner and the words didn’t quite reach Jensen’s ears. 

 

“...and the guy next door said he saw it go into your backyard.  You mind if I check?  I’ll be in big trouble with the wife if I don’t get him back.”  Jim was trying to buy time and get her to let him inside without incident but it wasn’t going well.

 

“I said _fuck off_!”  Jensen heard her this time, giving Jim a shrill shout before slamming the door roughly, practically shaking the walls of the house. Suddenly there was an explosion of noise so loud, sudden, and powerful that Jensen nearly toppled over.  After a beat, his mind finally caught up with him and he realized what the sound was.  A fucking lawn mower.  The neighbor he waved too just minutes before had finished trimming the hedge and had started up his gas powered mower.  The engine rattled loudly, drowning out all other sounds.  It made Jensen feel disoriented, leaving him reeling for just a beat too long before looking back into the window. 

 

Bunker and Warchild came bursting into the room, just as Jensen ducked to the right so he would be out of their eye line as they shouted at Tone to wake up.  Peeking back over the windowsill, he could see they were both red-faced, eyes wild and angry.  Bunker threw open the closet door noisily and Jensen caught a brief glimpse of the arsenal inside.  He couldn’t see much without risking being seen himself but he saw the muscular, tattooed man pull a combat shotgun from the closet shelf and hears the heavy metal sound of it being tossed to and caught by Warchild.  When Jensen popped his head back around there was an assault rifle in Warchild’s grip.  His hand was white knuckled and his face was twisted with the same angry bloodlust Jensen saw back at the beach the day before.

 

Jensen fell to his elbows and military crawled down the side of the house, trying to get out of earshot of the open window before he pressed the switch on his walkie-talkie.  He whisper-shouted as loud as he dared into the speaker, praying his team could hear him over the sound of the mower reverberating in the morning air.

 

“Get Jim the _fuck_ out of there, boys!  They’re pulling out a god damned arsenal!  Wester, you copy?!  Buckley?  Anyone?  DO NOT, I repeat DO NOT let Beaver pull his badge.  Over.”  Jensen released the button and held the receiver up to his ear.

 

“ _Say again, Agent Ackles?  Repeat.  Cannot hear over lawnmower, please repeat_.”  Buckley’s whisper was clear, they couldn’t fucking hear him.  He was too close to the neighboring yard where the mower was still going strong.  Jensen crept back over to the window, staying flush to the wall, straining to hear the men inside.  He heard more hushed but panicked arguing and the thump of feet pacing on aging hardwood floors but he can’t make out much else. 

 

The mower sputtered and paused for a moment, idling with a much less deafening ‘ _gug-gug-gug-gug’_ that Jensen could actually hear over.  Jim’s voice, familiar but strained and too loud reaches him.

 

“Is there anyone else here that might have seen him?” 

 

Sudden commotion in Tone’s room drowned out the conversation Jim was having about the dog that was wearing too thin to continue. 

 

“Shit, FUCK!”  It was Warchild and he sounded terrified.  “There's two guys by the back door, one on either side, they are really tucked down.”

 

“Oh, shit, man.  SHIT.  We’re fucked man.”  Tone’s voice sounded like a tense wire, ready to snap. 

 

“If that fat old fuck comes through the front door I’m gonna blow his ass up!” Bunker practically shouted.  His vicious bravado didn’t mask the fear in his words.  He’s like a cornered dog, ready to bite.  Jensen heard Warchild cock the shotgun. 

 

Jensen scrambled under the window toward the front of the house to back up his partner.  He skidded around the corner of the front porch just as Jim made his move.  He barreled into the door, shoulder first, busting the security chain and shoving his shield in the girl’s face.  Jensen heard her shriek from the shock.

 

“FBI, gorgeous.  Now let’s see who else is home.” 

 

Jensen bolted back to the bedroom with his gun drawn.  The lawnmower started up again as he saw the heavily armed punks piling out into the hall, toward his partner.  Jensen clawed the screen away and heaved his body up and through the window, pistol trained on the doorway.  “FREEZE!  FBI!  DROP YOUR FUCKING WEAPONS!”  He shouted as loudly as he could to draw their attention.  Bunker’s body whipped back into the open doorway and he pumped a few rounds blindly into the room.  The sound of the rifle blasts snap like a rubber band against Jensen’s ear drums and plaster dust clouds the air next to Jensen’s head where the bullets lodge into the wall next to the window frame. 

 

Jensen fired back rapidly.  He was trained for this and his aim was nothing but precision.  The sound of bullets ripping into flesh and bone were remarkably different from exploding paper and wood targets.  A mist of blood explodes outward as Bunker fell back, crashing to the bathroom floor, his rifle going off again, shattering the shower door.  The girl in the shower screamed over and over, the sound mixing with gun blast and lawnmower like some sick symphony.  Jensen felt bile burning the back of his throat as his upper body hit the carpet, pulling his legs behind him through the window.     

 

He heard more gun shots blasting down the hallway followed by a shotgun blast.  Jensen scrambled to his feet and dashed into the hall.  Tone was there, trapped between the shots being fired in the living room and Agent Buckley kicking down the backdoor.  The man’s eyes filled with pure terror as he raised his trembling, spindly arm, to aim a .45 at the agents. 

 

_BLAM!  BLAM!  BLAM!_

 

Agent Beaver’s final bullet was a head shot.  Jensen didn’t even have time to react. 

 

“GET ON YOUR FUCKING KNEES, MOTHERFUCKER!” Agents Wester and Buckley had Razor pinned in the kitchen.  The muscle bound asshole had his hands over his head and was dropping to his knees just as Jensen felt the blast rush past his face. 

 

_KABOOM!_

 

Shotgun pellets tore into the doorframe next to Jensen’s shoulder.  Warchild dove into the other bedroom and Jensen charged after him.  He only made it a few feet as he was hit from behind by what felt like a freight train.  There’s the sound of wet, naked flesh and that shrill screaming again, this time right in his ear.  He had forgotten about the girl in the shower. 

 

Her momentum slammed Jensen against the wall and his forehead bounced neatly off the aging plaster.  He spun and grabbed for her but she was naked and slippery.  Demon-eyed and keyed up on speed, she slammed into him again and kneed him in the balls.  Stars exploded behind Jensen’s eyes as the bolt of pain radiated up through his solar plexus, taking his breath away.  She lunged for his weapon, but it slipped from his hand and skidded across the floor.  She sprinted for it, leaving Jensen slumped against the wall and heaving for breath.  She was fast and before he could recover she was standing proudly, naked as a babe, gun clasped in both hands and pointed down at his head. 

 

Agent Beaver lunged at her from the living room and slammed her face first into the wall as Jensen clambered to his feet.  Thankfully, she never had the chance to pull the trigger.  Warchild appeared in the doorway of the bedroom, shotgun aimed, and Jensen copied her tactic, going full freight-train and barreling into his enemy.  Jensen didn’t have a weapon now so a flying tackle was his only choice.  The momentum sent the men spilling through the bedroom, smashing through the open window and into the sunny backyard. 

 

Warchild’s body took a brunt of the force and broken glass.  Jensen curled into a defensive pose against his chest as they crashed together into the dirt, knocking the wind out of Warchild.  Jensen was only dazed for a moment from the impact, quickly finding his center of balance and shoving up off of Warchild’s prone body.  He kicked the shotgun away but Warchild had already reached for the sheath strapped to his forearm, pulling out the same knife he’d used to sever Jensen’s board tether the day they collided surfing.  Warchild leapt up and lunged at Jensen, quick and feral, crouching and slicing through the air inches away from Jensen’s face. 

 

“Die motherfucker!”  Warchild spit as he lunged for Jensen’s throat.  He deflected the knife easily with a sharp chop to Warchild’s tibia but the furious, bleeding Nazi barreled into Jensen full bore and they crashed backwards through the neighbor’s rickety wooden fence.  The lawnmower was abandoned and had toppled over onto its side, either when the elderly man finally heard the gunshots and fled or when the grappling men smashed through the fence. 

 

The tables were turned and Jensen’s back smashed into the ruined fence with Warchild on top of him.  He grabbed Jensen by the collar of his shirt, his small, sharp knife glinting alarmingly close to Jensen’s face.  Jensen shoved forward with all his weight, slamming Warchild back with his forearm, sending the knife spinning free and into the partially cut grass.  They tumbled on the lawn, the sound of the ancient mower almost deafening in Jensen’s ears.  Warchild landed on Jensen and pinned him a mere six inches from the machine’s whirring blades, he grabbed Jensen by the hair and tried shoving his face into the mower.

 

Agent Beaver’s .38 popped off twice, finally a sound louder than the mower.  The bullets clanged into the mower and its motor grinds to a clunky, smoking stop.  Warchild froze as he felt the still-hot muzzle of the gun press against his temple. 

 

“You’re done, fucker.”  Jim said as he kicked the Nazi punk sideways, laying him out in the grass.  He pistol whipped the asshole for good measure and cuffed him with a wide grin on his red, sweaty face. 

 

It took a few minutes before Jensen finally managed to sit up.  His chest was heaving and his legs sprawled limp and useless in the grass as the world spun out of control around him.  His muscles burned and his head ached as he looked over at his partner, managing to smile weakly.  He was eternally grateful but unable to speak.  When he sat up, his stomach lurched as if it was trying to escape his body and Jensen doubled over, dry heaving into the grass. 

 

________

 

 

It was almost an hour later and Jensen’s ears were still ringing like his head had been shoved inside a giant bell that was being struck over and over and over.  He sat perched on the toilet in a cold sweat, too scared to leave the sink where he continued to puke up bile and every drop of water he tried to drink between the aching clench of dry heaves.  He stood up and faced the sink again, turning on the faucet full blast, shoving his whole face underneath it. 

 

“It's always been paper targets until today, huh?” 

 

Jensen shut off the water and wiped his face with his hands, nodding solemnly.  Jim handed him a towel, staying quiet as Jensen dried his face.  Bunker was still sprawled on the floor next to them in a huge pool of blood with two huge, dark holes in his chest.  Shards of glass littered the floor around his body. 

 

“There’s no difference, really, kid.  Just a little more to clean up is all.”  He patted Jensen on the back, keeping his voice low and soothing – a real feat for the normally loud, gruff man.  “It's alright. You did good today.  Let’s go, Morgan’s here, we gotta give him a rundown before the ME and CSI guys take over.”

 

Jensen, still woozy, followed Jim as he stepped over Bunker’s body and headed into the kitchen.  The other agents were all circled around the small kitchen table.  Agent Buckley looked up at Jensen, eyes filled with concern, and a few shades paler than normal.  He stepped back so Jensen could see what was on the table.   

 

A stack of white, plastic wrapped bricks were piled on the table’s white and gold Formica surface.  Jensen felt his brow twist in confusion as he read the looks on his colleague’s faces for an answer.  Drugs in this quantity were definitely not the Turtles MO. 

 

“So, Agents.  Do you want to enlighten Ackles and Beaver?  Perhaps introduce them to Agent Deetz?”  Agent Morgan’s voice was detached and calm but his face was beet red and the veins in his temples were bulging prominently. 

 

There was a man in a black leather vest and ripped up jeans with a haircut similar to the Weiss crew standing next to Agent Morgan.  The other agents all tilted their eyes to the floor, even Wester and Buckley remained tight lipped, avoiding eye contact. 

 

“No one?  No one wants to inform these two fuck-ups what’s going on?  Fine, I’ll do the honors.”  Morgan’s tone escalated rapidly.  “This, gentlemen, is two keys of uncut crystal-fucking-meth.  And this is Agent Stuart Deetz with the DEA.”

 

“Oh shit.”  Agent Beaver blurted out, just as stunned as his partner.

 

Jensen felt all the blood drain from his face, sure for a moment that he was going to puke again.  The man may have looked like the third Weiss brother but he was a God damned undercover drug enforcement agent.  Their raid had just royally fucked up whatever case he had been building. 

 

“Do you think I like this fucking haircut?”  The man grabbed a clump of his dread locks and held them out, sneering.  “I have been working on these guys for _three fucking months_.  I _finally_ get them ready to trust me enough to give up their supplier and you fucking morons pull this shit?!” 

 

“The DEA has records of the Weiss’ movements every day for the last three months, Agent Ackles.  So, maybe you can explain to me how these guys were supposed to be holding up Tarzana City National on July 7th when they were in Fort- _fucking_ -Lauderdale?!”  Morgan slammed his fist on the rickety table, making the heavy bricks of amphetamine bounce.  “Not an easy thing to do, is it, Agent Ackles!?  And you, Jim.  You’re the one that filled this rookie’s head with all this surf-boogaloo nonsense!  I should have your fucking shield for this!”    


	11. The Abyss

_“Your whole force heads for its origin._   
_The husks that your load threshes,_   
_are only the crushed, plundered, deliveries,_   
_that your act of abundance expelled,_   
_all those that take life from your branches.”_

_from ‘The Wide Ocean’ – by Pablo Neruda_

**  
**

When Jensen finally got home he was too drained to even think about eating dinner.  He stashed his gun and badge in the desk drawer and dumped his keys on the table.  He didn’t even turn a light on, just slumped down onto the edge of his bumpy couch, and let reality slowly come into focus around him.

 

His head was aching in a gentle throb, his skin felt tight and dry from the sea and sand, and his muscles ached in places he didn’t even know could hurt.  There was bruising starting to blossom under the skin from where he took damage during the raid.  He wanted to take a shower and fall into bed for a week but his limbs felt like they were locked in concrete.  While his body was in paralysis, his mind was still whirring a mile a minute.  His ears rang with the echoes of gun shots.  Jensen had killed a man less than twelve hours earlier.  It was like a bad dream, he wasn’t ready to deal with any of it.

 

The shooting meant he was required to take a minimum forty-eight hours leave and he had to meet with a FBI shrink at least once before returning to duty.  As much as he didn’t like forced leave or the idea of talking to a counselor, the rest was a blessing.  He was physically exhausted from too many hours without sleep, he was probably dehydrated, and definitely feeling the aftershocks of trauma from the raid.  His ribs ached and were probably cracked from his fall through the window and he still flinched every time he sat down from where Jared pounded into him the night before.  His mind was on fire with too many thoughts – total sensory overload.  He forced himself to push away the noise and distraction, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth to relax his muscles and help calm his mind.  It only made him think of Jared again. 

 

After sitting in the dark for at least twenty minutes, he found the will to pull off his clothes and climb into the shower.  He groaned as the too-hot water stung his salt and sun kissed skin.  He took the pain, knowing his muscles needed the blast of hot water or he’d wake up in knots.  He rubbed soap into every nook and cranny, fingers skimming over his swollen asshole gingerly as he rinsed off.  His cock twitched thinking of Jared sinking into him, fucking him open hard and reckless in the sand but he was too tired to jerk off.  He shut off the water and yanked his towel off its hook behind the door, drying his hair en route to the bedroom.    

 

The tiny orange light blinking on the answering machine on the desk caught his eye as he crossed the hall.  He paused for a moment, draping the towel over his shoulders, hypnotized by the rhythmic pulse of light.  It could wait until morning.  Of course, it could wait.  He sighed and decided to check them anyway.  There were four messages.  The first two were hang ups but the third was Jared.  Danni must have given him the number.  Just hearing Jared’s voice gave Jensen a second wind.

 

“Hey, man.  It’s Jared – I... Hey.  I just wanted you to have my number.  Thought you might wanna hang again sometime.  It’s uh, 310-269-1754.  Catch you later.”

 

Jensen shook his head and chuckled softly.  He was definitely fucking tired.  Jared almost sounded awkward in the message.  Nothing like the confident, calm man Jensen expected.  The second message was even worse. 

 

“Hey, it’s Jay… again.”  There was a long pause and an audible sigh.  “Look, I don’t know what it is.  Jensen…  I mean, I don’t call anyone.  Really.  But you…  I can’t stop thinking.  Just call me.  Tonight…  if you’re free.  I’d love to see you...”  There was another pause and a hitch of breath, like Jared wanted to continue, followed by a short sigh before the message beeped. 

 

Jensen rubbed his hand over his still-damp face, fingers dragging over his five o’clock shadow.  He absently ran his fingers over where Jared’s had been, gripping his face and neck as they fucked.  He found himself dialing the number without even having to play the message again. 

 

“Hello…?”  The half-asleep surfer-ease that answered after the third ring was definitely not Jared. 

 

“Uh, hey man, I know it’s late but is Jared still up?”  Jensen heard a click as another line in the house was picked up. 

 

“I got it, Tommy.”  There was long pause as Tommy fumbled to hang up the phone.  “Jen?  You, uh, working a big case or somethin’?  These aren’t exactly normal courthouse hours.”  Jared was poking fun but he made a good point. 

 

“No, I… Sorry I had to leave like that… in such a hurry.  I had a thing – that, uh, big case… Let’s just say it didn’t go as planned.  Don’t let me bore you with that shit, it’s been a long day and I could use some food and some beer and some company…. If your offer still stands.”  Jensen sucked in a breath, bracing for rejection.  It had been that sort of day, after all.  What the fuck was he doing, anyway? 

 

“Not disturbing me.  Not even a little bit.”  Jared’s voice was thick and dangerous.  “I was really hoping you’d call.  Do you want to come over here?  You’re more than welcome…”  Jensen cringed at the thought of seeing Jared’s motley crew at this hour and his own place was not a good idea if he wanted to keep his cover locked down.  He really hadn’t thought this through.

 

“I’m near Venice Beach.  I could just meet you down here, by the boardwalk.  You like Thai food?  I know a place down here that’s open til’ the bars close.” 

 

“Yeah.  Of course.  I’ll be there in twenty.” 

 

Jensen could hear the smile in Jared’s voice and it somehow made all the insane bullshit of the day fade to a dull hum.  He’d take it. 

 

______________

 

 

Jensen called ahead to Phuket Thai and ordered up a few favorites: green papaya salad, crispy noodles with shrimp, and a side of mango sticky rice in case Jared had a sweet tooth like he did.  He pulled on a maroon v-neck t-shirt and some black jogging shorts, grabbed a sixer of Singha from the bodega around the corner, and went to pick up their food. 

 

By the time he made it to the parking lot, Jared’s truck was pulling into the near-empty lot.  He felt like an asshole for not just having Jared over to his place but there was something fitting to having the beach factor into seeing Jared again.  He hadn’t actually spent time with Jared anywhere he couldn’t hear the waves and smell the ocean air.  He wondered how long Jared would even last in the smoggy, concrete jungle of Los Angeles proper.   

 

Jared wore a khaki tank top that had been cut out of a regular t-shirt and a pair of soft grey linen pants.  The shirt hung loose around his rippling torso and the soft edges of its neck fanned across his chest.  He looked happy and relaxed, smiling in that bright, eager way that made everything else disappear.  The noise in Jensen’s head evaporated and it became just Jared and the beach and the night embracing them. 

 

“Hey, thanks for driving down here, man.”  Jensen said, pushing back the awkwardness he felt gnawing into his confidence.

 

Jared grinned, taking the beer and the bag carrying the sticky rice out of Jensen’s hand, and leaned in for a half-hug.  “Please, I would have driven to San Diego if you asked me to…”  He said softly, pressing his lips into a soft kiss at the juncture of Jensen’s neck and earlobe.  Jensen bit his lip and turned away from Jared before he could see the ridiculous smile plastered across his face.

 

They found a spot between some palm trees on a patch of grass overlooking the beach.  It wasn’t ideal but it was better than trying to eat on the sand in the dark without a blanket.  They spread out the food, separated their chopsticks, and popped open their beers with a comfortable quiet between them.  Jensen may have caught a second wind but his small-talk engine was still offline.  He couldn’t find the words to chat about the weather or traffic or any other menial bullshit.  It seemed to suit Jared just fine, he ate quietly and openly stared at Jensen, smiling softly the whole time. 

 

Belly full and a few beers in, Jared finally broke the silence.  “So, what made you start surfing anyway?  Danni has been pretty tight lipped about you.”  He asked casually as he ate a chunk of mango with his chopsticks. 

 

 “Well, I mean I just moved to California.  It seemed like the thing to do…”  He smiled at Jared before biting into the last of the big, plump shrimp.

 

“She likes you.  A lot.  She doesn’t like many people, Jen.  You’re special to her.”  Jared almost sounded protective over Danni.  “That sort of automatically makes you special to me too.” 

 

“She’s definitely the best drill sergeant I ever had.” Jensen quipped, tried sounding casual but he knew what Jared was getting at.  Danni hadn’t been too subtle in mooning over him.  When it came down to it, Jensen was pretty curious about Jared’s relationship with her too. 

 

“She hasn’t told me much about you either, Jay.  In fact, she made it sound like you two…”  Jensen cocked his eyebrow suggestively, thinking about her seething monologue when Jared flaunted his temporary arm-candy.

 

“I’ve been with her, if that’s what you’re after.”  Jared smiled softly, not quite meeting Jensen’s gaze.  His eyes were weighed with fondness and maybe a little regret.  “It was just sex, a few summers ago.  We had what you could all a recurring, mutually beneficial relationship.  Danni wanted more…”  Jensen wasn’t surprised.  Danni had seemed intensely bitter about the company Jared had been keeping at his party. 

 

“She deserves more.  She’s a beautiful spirit; open, loving, free.  I didn’t want to compromise any of that, or our friendship, any more than I already had.  I think of her fondly, more like a sibling.  That’s all.  Now, quit changing the subject.”  Jared said, jabbing Jensen with his elbow.  He smiled and blushed, pleased that Jared felt the need to clarify. 

 

 “You were the one who brought her up…”  Jensen chuckled, shaking his head and taking a swig of beer. 

 

“Yeah, because I was asking her about _you_ ,” Jared was quick to interject.  “I just want to know more, okay?  I feel a connection with you.”  Jared stared right into Jensen’s eyes when he spoke.  It was just so frank Jensen had to look away for a moment before emotion overwhelmed him. 

 

Jared let his words sit in the open air, marinating in the pregnant pause between them.  He reached out and put his hand over Jensen’s where it rested on the grass and thumbed over his wrist bone, stroking it gently. 

 

“You make me feel the way I do when I’m about to slice down the face of a wave or jump out of a plane or…  I just don’t meet a lot of people that spark that in me.”

 

“Really?  I mean, you seem to have a lot of close friends…”  Jensen shrugged, looking toward the water.  He couldn’t really wrap his mind around what Jared was saying, not the depth or intent of it anyway.  There was so much vulnerability in Jared’s words but Jensen felt too fragile.  It would have been so, so easy to slide into Jared’s vortex and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that, especially given the circumstances. 

                                                                                                                                                                                              

“You’re right and I don’t know where I’d be without them.  Tommy, Chad, Zach… they serve their purpose.  I love each of them for what they add to me and I hope I add something to them.  But, that’s not what I mean.  I think you know...  I think you feel it, too.”  Jared moved his hand, stroking the back of his fingers over Jensen’s cheek.  Jensen turned his face into the motion, tipping his head toward Jared.  He swallowed hard and looked at Jared, really looked.  He tried to see beyond the thrill-seeker, bohemian, wild man with too much charisma and libido for anyone’s good.  Jared’s amber-blue eyes seemed to contain all the answers Jensen could ever need and yet they brimmed with mystery.  It made Jensen almost dizzy to be devoured in that gaze.  He couldn’t hold it for long.  He felt his face going red, the flush spreading down his neck.  He finally bit his lip and looked back out over the water. 

 

“Yeah, Jay.  I mean, you’re right.  I feel… It’s just – I have a lot of baggage.”  It was like being with Jared in one of his photos, getting ready to jump into the open air at fifty thousand feet.  Jensen was about to talk about shit he never even thought about much less confessed to those around him.  Somehow, there with Jared on the beach, it was exhilarating instead of terrifying.  He took the plunge. 

 

“Have you ever been to Texas, Jared?”  Jensen asked, needing to start from square one if he were going to dig deep into his shadows. 

 

“Sure, I was born there.”  Jared said simply, taking a swig of his beer and looking at Jensen sideways and smiling softly.  “San Antonio.  I miss it sometimes.  Why’d you think I was such a big UT fan?” 

 

Wow, Jared was just full of surprises.  Jensen shook his head, digesting the information.  “Alright then, you know.  It can be very… traditional.  Coming to LA was a big leap for me.  The first chance I ever had for something that was just for me.  I made a conscious decision.  I had to shed my old persona and find something new.  I guess you could say that surfing is part of my second chance.”  Jensen couldn’t look directly at Jared while he was talking.  He wasn’t sure if it was because it was too much of a lie or that it was too close to the truth.  Regardless, the words spilled from him like quicksand after that. 

 

“My family’s from Dallas.  Upper class, a little old money mixed with new.  We always had the best of everything:  big houses, best schools, family vacations every summer.  I was never left wanting.  But my parents were strict.  They had big plans for their kids.  We had to make them proud, look good to the neighbors.  Be that Sears portrait studio family with the bright-white smiles and good bone structure that went to church every Sunday.  I was expected to be somebody special someday, you know?”

Jared watched him, face soft and open as Jensen picked at the label on his beer bottle nervously while he spoke.  Jared opened him a fresh one and handed it over, trading him for the empty.  The silence urged Jensen into continuing. 

 

“I just always felt like I was playing catch up.  I was never good enough, I was never like them.  I had to hide who I really was before I ever even got to know what that really meant.  I was always looking for something deeper, something more when everyone else expected me to keep falling in line like a happy little soldier.  Football made it easier for a while.  I finally figured out something I was really good at, gifted even.  Something that made me happy and finally made my parents love me… and we both know how that turned out.  It hasn’t been the same since.  There was that one fleeting window where I was finally good enough for them, when I finally made them proud.” 

 

Jensen realized he was rambling and probably not making much sense.  He paused and looked over at Jared, smile tight and unsure, rolling the cool beer bottle between his hands and letting the condensation drip over his fingertips.  Jared’s large, warm hand fell gently on his shoulder blade, squeezing in gentle, unassuming reassurance before smoothing his hand down Jensen’s back. 

 

“It sounds like you’ve been told not to trust yourself.  The world does it to all of us, man.  Society, this construct we are all forced to live in, it will suck the life out of you if you let it.  Just remember, the people in your life that have made you feel unworthy… it’s because they were afraid.  They see that your soul burns so much brighter than their own.  You’ve got the sea in your blood, lightning in your veins, moonlight in your eyes, Jen.  You’re a force of nature and you don’t owe anything to those people.  Real family loves you for who you are, not what they want you to be.”

 

It went unspoken but Jensen really felt it then, in that moment as he felt bared to the universe and yet comforted in the understanding of Jared’s embrace.  There was something connecting the two of them.  Like a silvery filament was tied to that hot, secret, dark place that burned inside him and it stretched out beyond his own body, his own consciousness, and linked him to Jared.  It was as if they were the opposite ends of a spectrum, North Pole and South, obviously different but both desperately chasing something.  Maybe not even the same something but that same intensity, that same drive and passion pulled them both forward and together now that they were caught in one another’s gravity.

 

“You don’t owe me anything either, you know.”  Jared said, as if he were swimming through the thoughts swirling in Jensen’s head.  “You’re searching, just like me.  There’s destiny out there for each of us but it’s not written down in some fucking book or in your family photo albums.  It’s waiting but it’s not easy to catch.  Nothing good ever is.” 

 

“Jared, I –” The words were there, ready to fall like grains of sand from his tongue, the truth about who he really was and why he was really sitting with Jared looking out over the Pacific.  There in the dark with the sea lapping against the beach, rhythmic and beautiful in the background, it felt like he and Jared were on the same mirror-dark surface, on a stage, stripped down to their rawest forms.  All the bullshit crumbled away and in silhouette against the sand, the sea, and the night they were like puzzle pieces, more similar than different, magnets desperate to connect. 

 

No fed suit, no badge, no football injury.  No affluent, traditional, religious – and very much alive – parents whose judgment loomed like a watchful eye over every second of Jensen’s life.  Even there, a world away, in a different life he could feel them watching him.  Even in his lies they were there, judging.  But Jared’s lips erased that too, shattering that rock hard layer, melting and centering Jensen in a way he’d never felt.  It was like being dissolved down to his base elements – carbon, calcium, iron, and water.  Like being one with something and exploded out as mere atoms into the void, all at the same time.

 

Jared’s mouth and tongue and hands reshaped Jensen like he was a hunk of clay.  Jensen let go, let his sleep-starved mind fall into Jared, willing to go literally anywhere he would take him.  He didn’t even really feel it when Jared pulled away. 

 

“Can we go back to your place, Jen?” 

 

“Fuck yes.”

_____________

 

 

They walked to Jensen’s apartment, their leftover food shoved into the bag it came in and deposited with the two remaining beers next to a homeless guy sleeping on a bench near the boardwalk.  Their fingers intertwined and that same comfortable ease gelled around them as they walked the few blocks to Jensen’s apartment.  Jensen felt like he was floating in a dream.  The gravity of what he was doing by asking Jared to come home with him still hadn’t quite sunken in as his key clicked in the lock. 

 

Jensen’s sleep starved brain vaguely remembered depositing his badge and gun their usual drawer before he showered and otherwise there was very little trace of personality was in his small, clean apartment.  He would probably have worried about it more but once the door was closed, Jared’s hands, lips, and tongue were all that mattered.  They fell together kissing against the back of the door like teenagers, hands urgent and starved to reach skin inside the dark apartment. 

 

Jared’s hands were huge and hot as they shoved Jensen’s t-shirt up and over his head, breaking their kiss for only a moment to help him shed it.  Jensen tugged Jared’s hips closer, palming his huge dick through the thin fabric.  He wasn’t wearing anything underneath the thin, soft linen.  Jensen’s fingers traced him softly, like he was trying to memorize every line and swell, relishing the feel of it throbbing and needy under his hand.  He pushed back on Jared’s chest gently, wanting to go somewhere more comfortable before his legs gave out from pleasure-laced exhaustion. 

 

“Couch or bed?”  Jensen panted as his head dipped back against the door.

 

“Which is closest?  Need you now.”  Jared growled, not bothering to wait for direction.  He pounced on Jensen again, kissing him deeply as his left arm slipped around Jensen’s waist, curling around his body.  His other hand ran down his thigh, coaxing it up to wrap around Jared’s hip.  “Come here…”  He whispered as he tugged Jensen up onto his tip toes. 

 

Jensen was by no means a small man but he felt almost slight and delicate in Jared’s massive hands, clinging to his broad chest and muscular arms.  His body still ached but he was caught up in Jared’s touch, swept away by the intensity of the moment.  He let Jared move him, hopping a little as Jared hoisted him up, gasping slightly as the movement strained his bruised ribs.  The burn of desire pushed away the pain as his legs circled Jared’s body and he wrapped his arms around Jared’s neck, mouths sliding together rough and unrelenting as Jared pulled him close to carry him toward the couch.

 

Jared navigated across the small space delicately, turning to sit down on the faded denim-blue sofa.  Jensen’s legs parted to accommodate and he pressed forward, straddling Jared’s hips, grinding down into him, tongue searching deep into Jared’s mouth.  Jared groaned and tipped his back to rest against the back of the couch as the undersides of their cocks slotted together through the linen and nylon.  Jensen trailed kisses down Jared’s lightly stubbly chin and throat, over his Adam’s apple, dipping his tongue into the divot at the base of his neck and licking out along his collarbone.  He thumbed over Jared’s hard nipples through his soft tank top, dragging his fingers down his abs to tug up the edge of the shirt. 

 

“Off…” Jensen said against the side of his neck before sitting back on Jared’s knees to let him pull off his shirt.  As soon as they were both shirtless, Jensen pressed their chests together, relishing the skin-on-skin contact.

 

“Thought about you all day…  Felt you…”  Jensen’s hole fluttered as they kissed again, mouths wet and sloppy.  He was still tender from the night before but he wanted nothing more than to be impaled on Jared again, get opened up and fucked deep.   He fucking needed it. 

 

Jared’s hands slid over the curve of his ass, pulling his cheeks apart, squeezing and kneading the muscle in his huge hands.  His index fingers teased along the edge of his ass crack through the fabric.  “God, yes.  Want you to ride it.”  Jared thrust up, his cock like hot, solid marble rutting alongside Jensen’s. 

 

“Fuck yes, Jay.”  Jensen’s voice was strained and needy as he fought the urge to seal his lips against Jared’s again.  If they were going to do this again so soon, he needed lube and lots of it.  He slid off Jared’s lap, stood and slipped off his shorts. 

 

“Be right back…”  He said as he turned, leaving Jared for a moment to find the condoms and bottle of Astroglide he kept stashed next to the bed.

 

The sight of Jared on his couch when he returned almost took his breath away.  The lights were off but the moon was high and bright in the sky, spilling in through the living room windows.   Jared looked gorgeous in the soft, silvery glow of moonlight, maybe even more beautiful than he did on the beach in the warm glow of the fire.  He was a huge, gorgeous specimen of pure, wild energy that couldn’t possibly be contained.  He belonged amongst the waves, on the sand, under the sun, flying through the air –touching all the elements – but instead he had chosen to be here, with Jensen. 

 

Jared stood, smiling under Jensen’s admiring gaze.  He untied the knot holding up his pants and let them slide down the muscular, brown swell of his thighs.  His cock bobbed heavy and thick in front of him, tip glistening in the soft light.  Jensen’s mouth watered at the sight.  He stepped forward and tossed the condom packet and bottle of lube onto the couch beside Jared, falling to his knees on the carpet in front of him. 

 

Jared’s right hand cupped the side of Jensen’s face.  He ran his thumb up over the five-o’clock shadow on his chin, tracing the soft curve of his bottom lip.  Jensen flicked his tongue out across his lip, chasing Jared’s thumb.  Jared smiled down at Jensen and tipped his jaw up, swiping his thumb over his lips again, dipping between them, making them slick with spit. 

 

“Your mouth is like pure, distilled sin…”  Jared groaned as Jensen’s mouth opened wider, letting Jared’s finger slip deeper inside, welcoming it into his mouth and bathing it with his tongue.  Jensen sucked, letting his lips close around it, watching Jared’s eyes slip shut from the sensation, a hushed gasp escaping his lips. 

 

Jared opened them again, gazing down at Jensen with a lazy, lustful smile before pulling his thumb free, tipping his hips forward to replace it with the weeping tip of his cock.  The blunt, slick head bumped against Jensen’s lips.  He parted them, lapping at Jared’s slit, savoring the salty-ocean taste that exploded over his taste buds.  Jared caressed Jensen’s chin and throat as Jensen licked and sucked gently at his cock, teasing plush lips and velvet soft tongue over it, suckling at his precome. 

 

Jared groaned and raked his hand through Jensen’s sandy brown hair.  He bucked his hips gently, like he was telling Jensen he wanted more, deeper, like he needed to slide that big horse dick down Jensen’s willing throat.  Jensen traced the underside of his cockhead with his tongue, causing it to twitch and leak in desperation.  He smiled wickedly as he pulled back, giving it another swipe with his tongue before pushing Jared’s thighs back and urging him to sit down again. 

 

Jared sat on the couch with his eyes locked on Jensen’s swollen, wet lips as he gripped the base of his dick and spread his knees open wide so Jensen could slide between them.  Jensen’s hand replaced Jared’s, fingers circling the thick base of his cock and softly squeezing his balls.  He grabbed the condom from where it had slipped down into the crease of the couch but Jared grabbed his hand before he ripped it open with his teeth. 

 

“Do you trust me?”  Jared’s voice was ragged with lust as they locked eyes over the loaded question. 

 

Jensen untangled their fingers, leaving Jared holding the unopened condom, and reached for the lube.  He popped the cap and tipped it over, letting the runny, slick fluid drizzle over the head of Jared’s cock, cascading cool and wet down the shaft and over Jensen’s fingers.  He stroked upward, spreading the slick over it, jacking him a few times before pulling his hand away and sweeping the excess lube between his ass cheeks.  

 

“You wanna fuck me bare, Jay?”  Jensen said as his fingertips spread the lube over his hole, pressing inside gently.  The lube was cool and soothing on his rim which hadn’t quite recovered from the night before.  It was tender but as Jensen fingered himself quickly, slicking and opening himself, he knew he wanted Jared in him again, wanted to feel the hot, bare skin of his dick sliding into him, he needed it like a fucking drug. 

 

“Fuck,” Jared gasped, “yes, _fuck_ yes.”

 

He looked up at Jared as he added a third finger, sucking in a sharp breath from the sting.  He corkscrewed them inside regardless, shoving deeper, tugging himself open.  Jared watched him patient and hungry, his lips parted, pink and softly panting. 

 

He added more lube to his fingers, sinking back in again, making sure he was ready before standing and sliding a knee onto the couch beside Jared.  Jensen kissed him as he swung his leg over, straddling him again, and reached back to guide him inside.  Jared’s body was still like a statue, giving Jensen complete control. 

 

The hot, slick tip felt wider than Jen remembered when it bumped up against his hole.  Despite the lube, prep, and having taken it before, it seemed like an impossible fit.  He knew better and breathed out, focusing on making his muscles pliant and willing.  He took a deep breath and started sinking down onto Jared’s girth as he breathed out.  He bore down against the intrusion, closing his eyes and tipping his head back, keeping firm, even pressure as he pressed down.  He rocked his hips, grinding the slowly opening ring of muscle down, keeping Jared’s cock steady with his hand. 

 

“God, Jared, so fuckin’ huge…” He groaned, feeling the slide, letting himself open up. 

 

“Shhh…” Jared ran his hands delicately over Jensen’s face and neck, tracing over his shoulders, a soothing touch, “Just keep goin’ slow, you almost got it, baby.  Know you can take it…” 

 

With Jared’s words, the head finally slid past the resistance, his aching hole clenched and fluttered around the well-lubed shaft.  Jensen gasped, the stretch stung like acid but the need was growing in his guts, begging to be filled, strong enough to keep pressing past the pain.  Gravity did the rest.  Jensen put both hands on Jared’s chest and tipped their foreheads together as he let his body slide down, slowly accepting Jared’s thick, rigid length.  Jensen’s thigh muscles trembled and he moaned in relief when the soft curve of his ass finally met the firm press of Jared’s thighs.  He pressed the front of his body against Jared’s, grinding his hips a little, trying to adjust and make it good. 

 

“Jesus Christ, so fucking full,” Jensen mumbled.  His words were almost unintelligible and whisper soft against Jared’s mouth.  Jared’s hands circled Jensen’s waist and he ran his thumbs up and down over his abs with his fingers curled around his sides, almost like he was tracing the underside of his own cock through Jensen’s abdomen.  His fingers kept stroking, up and down, tracking the same path in a soothing rhythm.  Jensen looked down and canted his hips again.  He swore he could see his stomach bulge minutely when Jared’s huge dick shifted inside him. 

 

“Fuck, Jared.”  His breath fluttered in his lungs, stretched so wide, as Jared’s girth pressed right into his prostate. 

 

Jared’s hands gripped Jensen’s hips and he bucked up gently.  “Ride it, baby.  Know you can…”  Jared’s lips found Jensen’s throat and he kissed him, gently nibbling, urging him to move.  Jensen let Jared guide him, loosening his body, letting his hips start to rock along with Jared’s rhythm.  God, it was good.  Jared’s cock was so big, thick and hot, filling him up.  Jensen barely needed to move to make his nerve endings sing.   

 

His hips quivered, every muscle in his body thrumming like he was about to explode.  He started to rock, feeling the deep, aching squelch of Jared’s lubed up length begin to move more easily inside him.  Jared’s hand wrapped around his cock, gently stroking it back to full hardness, as Jensen started to move. 

 

He fucked up into Jared’s fist, enjoying the hot constriction of Jared’s palm and fingers around his dick, contrasting with the full-til’-bursting feeling in his core.  He steadied himself, one hand on Jared’s shoulder and the other on his own thigh as he built up a rhythm.  Jared was panting, trying to control the rattled breaths escaping from his lips as his head lolled back against the couch. 

 

“Aw, fuck, Jen.  So good, don’t stop.”  Jared mumbled as Jensen became more confident in his movements.  It felt like conquering a wave – powerful, transcendent – he wanted to feel Jared come apart beneath him, watch his face flush and his features go slack as he rode his cock until he couldn’t speak or see, until everything was Jensen and nothing hurt.

 

He slipped his feet up underneath his thighs, alongside Jared’s, with his hands braced on the back of the couch for the best leverage.  He perched over Jared, hole clenching around that long, thick cock, ready to give Jared the ride of his life. 

 

He arched his back, ass tilting up and out, Jared’s dick sliding out until he could feel the ridge of the head tugging at his rim and threatening to pop free.  He held there, body quivering, Jared’s lungs full of breath, head writhing on the couch.  He bounced his hips a bit, letting Jared’s cock in a few inches, then out again, quick little jagged thrusts, the head threatening to slip out every time.  Jared’s hands skittered to Jensen’s thighs, grabby and spasming, Jensen could tell he wanted to yank him down, drive his cock up inside his tight, wet, heat but this was Jensen’s rodeo. 

 

“Fuck, Jay.  You want deeper?  Want me to get all ten inches of that fat cock back up in my belly, huh?”  Jensen groaned dirty-sweet in his ear.  “Deeper like this?” 

 

Jensen started bouncing again, taking Jared in deeper, just another inch or two.  Jared gasped and moaned with his eyes slammed shut, chewing his bottom lip so hard it threatened to split.  He didn’t answer, couldn’t, just whimpered and cringed, muscles tense and vibrating like it was taking every shred of self control Jared has not to throw Jensen on the floor and fuck him, hard and deep. 

 

“So deep, _God_ …”  Jensen groaned as he slid all the way down again, leaning back to rest his ass against Jared’s thighs.  He held himself up with one hand on Jared’s knee to brace him, knees parted around Jared’s torso on the balls of his feet.  The angle was fantastic and Jared was deeper than anyone or anything had ever been.  It felt so fucking right Jensen could have died happy right then.  Jared’s hands scrambled up his sides, holding him, scratching and clawing at skin, slick with sweat from the effort. 

 

“Jensen, fuck.  _Fuckkkkk_ ,” Jared groaned as his thighs and hips jerked erratically, completely out of rhythm from Jensen’s short, fluid thrusts.  Jensen wanted to watch but he couldn’t find the strength to lift his head, it lulled back and each twitch of his hips, each press of Jared’s dick into his prostate, made his cock weep and loud, harsh moans erupt from his lips.

 

Jared’s hands gripped his pelvis brutally as he found the right angle, finally discovering the right rhythm.  They synched up, bucking, tensing, and thrusting together, Jared’s fingers squeezing bruises into the skin of Jensen’s hips, the perfect pivot point as his ass slapped sloppy wet against the hard plane of Jared’s thighs.  Jensen was lost, begging, so close to the edge he was chanting a prayer and not caring who heard it. 

 

“Christ, Jay, I’m gonna come. God, FUCK.  Gonna come on your cock, soooo good.  So good.  Please.  Touch me, please!”

 

Jared jacked his cock, huge hand slick with sweat and precome that flowed from Jensen’s dick like a faucet.  Jensen’s whole body was singing and screaming, white light blinding him as if the moon were two feet from his face.  He was at the top of a wave, twenty stories high, a wave made of sunlight and crystal.  Heat flooded his body and his orgasm whips from the base of his balls up his spine, making it arch uncontrollably.  He came so hard it splashed up over his chest, hitting his own chin. Every sensation is amplified, slowed down to a laser like intensity, each contraction of his sack, every spurt of come, every clench of his gaping asshole suckling at Jared’s cock, begging for his load. 

 

Jared was shouting something, growling and clawing at Jensen, fingers raking through the come on his chest, spreading it over him, working it into his skin.  The heat of Jared’s come surged up into him.  There was no room for it so it squelched out, dripping over Jared’s thighs, and pooling around Jensen’s quivering ass cheeks.  Jared’s arms were around him, holding him upright, aftershocks wracking both their bodies.  Jensen feels as if he’s made of sand, like he’s pouring through the bottom of an hour glass, all the particles of his soul swirling down into an inky vortex, cell by cell, atom by atom.   He was slipping through Jared’s fingers and the blur of darkness around the edge of his vision closes in around it.  It was pure bliss.  He was smiling so much his face hurt.  He was saying words but he couldn’t hear them or they were in a language he didn’t understand.  Either way, he said goodnight and let the abyss take him.  He was finally free.


	12. Renaissance Men

When Jensen woke up he was naked and alone in bed, his skin dappled by the mid-morning sunlight filtering in through the blinds.  His body was stiff and sore, racked with a bone-deep ache, like he imagined he would feel the day after being hit by a car.  Given his sleep-starved state, he should have slept like the dead but his over-tired consciousness kept him restless, slipping back and forth between sleep, dream, and delirious restlessness until the sun was up. 

 

He closed his eyes and rubbed his hands over his face, breathing deep and stretching his throbbing joints.  Flashes of the night before raced through his mind: his limbs tangled with Jared’s, the smooth swell of Jared’s muscular chest under his cheek, Jared’s hands stroking and soothing him as he tossed and turned, the smell of Jared’s skin – all clean sweat and exotic spice – warm and reassuring to his racing thoughts.  But now Jensen was alone and his chest ached with a pain that was deeper than the injuries he’d sustained.  The thought of being alone in his current headspace rushed over his skin like an unwelcome illness, a mirror of the bruises spreading like flowers over the pale skin of his ribs and shoulder. 

 

Jensen didn’t remember making it into his bed so Jared had to have carried him.  Again.  The thought made him groan and bury his face in his pillow self-consciously for a moment until memories of the rest of the evening projected themselves onto the ever-sharpening face of his consciousness.  He had fucked Jared with the reckless zeal of a porn star, without any protection, and had screamed so loud he would probably be evicted.  The blush on his cheeks faded to a sappy grin and he acknowledged how precious and looked after the thought of Jared carrying him to bed made him feel, especially after the bizarre roller coaster his past forty-eight hours had been.  It was probably why the disappointment surging unabated in his chest at the thought of Jared leaving without saying goodbye was so sharp. 

 

“I don’t know how you stand living this far inland.  It smells like a fucking ashtray,” Jared grumbled from where he leaned against the door frame.  He must have been standing there for a while, just quietly watching.    He smiled at and crawled back onto the bed, climbing over Jensen’s sprawled out body, and planted a minty kiss on his lips which were still pursed open in shock.

 

“I hope it’s okay I used your toothbrush,” Jared mumbled as he nuzzling against Jensen’s cheek.  “Let’s go to the beach.” 

 

“Yeah, uh – okay.”  Jensen stammered as he reeled from his tangled thoughts and Jared’s sweetness.  He was almost embarrassingly giddy to find Jared still there but his mind and body were having trouble syncing up. 

 

Jared laughed and smiled, obviously pleased.  “Wow, awesome.  I didn’t think you’d actually say yes.  I figured you’d have work but I just couldn’t bring myself to leave…  It’s still early.”  He kissed Jensen again, deeper this time, ignoring his morning breath and licking inside his mouth eagerly as Jensen finally got with the program and started to kiss him back.  The muscles in Jared’s back rippled like a panther’s under Jensen’s hands as he pulled away, smiling down at him, prettier than the California sunshine. 

 

“Um, yeah, well I took the rest of the week off.  Just needed a mental vacation with everything that’s been going on… at work.  But yeah, let’s go.  Let me shower and I’ll drive us.”

 

The words were past Jensen’s lips before he had a chance to second guess himself.  He knew he needed to return to reality soon.  There was an appointment with a shrink he needed to make and he owed his partner a phone call, just to check in.  Jared’s hand tracing up the curve of his thickening erection reminded him that his responsibilities could wait.  He deserved this.

 

__________

 

Jensen’s shower took way longer than it should have since Jared decided to join him so it was well past ten by the time they made it on the road.  The sun had burned away the clouds and the day was heating up quickly, making for perfect seaside weather. 

 

Jared guided them to a little café near the Santa Monica pier.  They ordered breakfast out on the balcony, the sea breeze chilled the air and made it comfortable enough to sit in the bright sun.  They soaked in the rays, eating fruit and toast with their shoulders pressed together sitting on the same side of the table overlooking the sea.  The silences between them remained easy, softening the spaces between their light small talk, touching, laughing, and basking in the afterglow of the night before.  Jensen drank three cups of black coffee in hopes of getting his head back on straight but found himself staring at Jared instead, head filled with filthy daydreams.  Before long, he noticed Jared getting antsy as he looked out over the crystalline waves. 

 

“This isn’t what you had in mind when you said you wanted to go to the beach, huh?”  Jensen asked playfully, nudging Jared’s shoulder. 

 

Jared smiled back, laughing softly.  “Yeah, I’m pretty transparent when it comes to the ride, man.  Sorry.  Not many days in the season left.”  Jared’s eyes darted around to make sure they weren’t being watched before he leaned in and planted a soft kiss on the side of Jensen’s mouth.  “Come on, surf with me again.” 

 

Jensen shook his head and sighed as he pulled out his wallet to pay their tab.  “Let’s go, just take it easy on me.  I’m still sore.”  He tilted his neck, rubbing it and smirking as he took the check up to the cashier with Jared trailing behind.

 

Jensen was surprised at how much he looked forward to getting back into the water, too. He knew he should take it easy, Jared was already pressing him on his increasingly visible injuries, not seeming totally convinced when Jensen blamed them all on the fight with the Weiss gang. He liked the idea of taking the sleek, black board Jay had lent him out for another spin. The board and the borrowed wetsuit were still in the backseat of Jensen’s Mustang but they needed to head back to Jared’s to get his gear. He hadn’t brought anything down the night before and his truck was still parked down at Venice Beach.

 

The drive up the canyon to Jared’s place was fast since the morning rush had abated.    

 

“Don’t any of your roommates have jobs?”  Jensen asked when they pulled up, finding the driveway and curb lined with cars. 

 

“’Course, I mean, not nine-to-five gigs like you, Counselor,” Jared teased, “but Tommy and Chad both got picked up for sponsorship with Billabong last summer. Made some videos for them, went to some competitions and other shit like that. They basically get paid to wear t-shirts and use the company’s gear. They’re fucking sellouts.” Jared sounded like he was only half kidding with the dig on his pals.

 

Jensen parked in front of the neighbor’s house and shook his head as he got out.  “Must be nice.” 

 

“Zach teaches Tae Kwon Do and meditation at a dojo down in Long Beach but he’s off today I think.  God knows who else is crashin’ here at the moment.”  Jared said as they walked up to his driveway.

 

“What about you?”  The question spilled from Jensen’s lips heavier and faster than it should have, like it had been lying in wait at the edge of his subconscious for a chance to be asked. 

 

“I guess you could say I’m a renaissance man, a Jack of all trades, really.” 

 

“I’ve never met a handyman that could afford to rent a million dollar mansion in Malibu, Jay.”  Jensen stopped on the steps up to the front door and gave Jared a harsh, questioning look.  He knew almost nothing about Jared and needed to stop pretending it didn’t matter.    

 

“I didn’t say I was a fucking handyman, you little shit.  I just have a lot of different things going on.  I never could sit still long enough to find a career for myself.  I’ve made some good investments over the years so I’ve got a nice little nest egg that helps me get by.  Besides, I live frugally nine months of the year, man.  I just like to live it up a little in the summer.” 

 

Jared opened the door and turned back to face Jensen, bending down close, almost whispering. “Don’t worry about it too much, okay?  I’m not after you for that fat lawyer wallet of yours if that’s what you’re worried about.  For now, let’s just have fun.”  He kissed Jensen softly on the mouth and tugged him through the front door.

 

Chad and Tommy, connected at the hip as always, were playing pool in what used to be the dining room and Zach was in the kitchen scrambling some egg whites and chatting with a girl in a turquoise bikini with a spiky blonde pixie cut. There were a few other faces in the living room that Jensen remembered from the party.  Jared greeted them all, introducing Jensen and making small talk about surf conditions as they wove their way from room to room

 

The greetings all felt more awkward than Jensen would have liked.  Seeing Jared’s friends in broad daylight was… new.  While none of them seemed to bat an eyelash at Jensen’s presence, his own insecurity made him fidgety and eager to pick up Jared’s gear and get the hell out of there.  It didn’t help that Jared couldn’t keep his hands to himself, touching and gesturing to Jensen with obvious affection in front of the others.  He tugged Jensen along by the hand, touching him constantly in casual ways, laughing and smiling loudly like a guy showing of his new girl to his high school buddies. 

 

By the time they finally made it down to Jared’s space, he seemed to have sensed Jensen’s unease. 

 

“What’s the matter, Jen?  Sorry, I know I gotta get my ass in gear,” Jared said apologetically as he opened the mirrored sliding door to the closet in the hallway adjacent to his bedroom.

 

“Naw, man, it’s not that…  I just feel like a poser around you guys, I guess.”  If only Jared knew how deep Jensen’s insecurities really ran.  Jensen felt ridiculous talking about it.  He was past reminding himself that at the end of the day this was all for a case and was feeling the gears turn in his head as he tried to figure out how he could make whatever this was growing between he and Jared work on a more permanent basis.

 

Jared stopped rummaging for his wetsuit and stepped into Jensen’s space where he was busy poking his toe into the Berber carpet and choking back the lump in his throat. 

 

“Hey,” Jared said softly, running his hands down Jensen’s shoulders and arms, grabbing both of his wrists and bending his head down to try and get him to make eye contact.  “You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want you to be, okay, and the guys know that.  No matter what you think, I promise they aren’t judging you and they sure as hell don’t judge me.”

 

“I know, I just – guh, I don’t know, Jared.  This is just all moving really fast and I know I don’t exactly fit in with this whole scene…”  Jensen looked away, not wanting the emotion he was holding back to come flooding out when he looked into Jared’s dancing eyes. 

 

“Do you think this is about how good of a surfer you are?  Holy shit man, that isn’t the only thing I’m about.  I like being around you.  You’re focused, passionate, and goddamned beautiful, okay?  It’s enough for me, so stop second guessing everything and quit thinking so fuckin’ much –” 

 

Jensen cut off Jared’s frustrated tangent with his lips.  He backed Jared into the wall as he licked into his mouth, hands sliding up Jared’s neck and into his soft, chestnut hair.  Jared was right, Jensen was over-thinking whatever _this_ was instead of just enjoying it.  He’d made the mistake of being worried about what everyone around him thought most of his life.  This was supposed to be a new start, a chance to shed his old skin and be reborn, in the surf and the sand, under Jared’s skillful hands.  He let the current take him and reached for what he wanted, fuck what the rest of the world thought. 

 

He let Jared him suck him off on his bed, moaning like a whore, loud enough for the whole house to hear.  His face hurt from smiling so much by the time he put his Ray Bans back on and revved up the Mustang.

 

_________

 

Jared guided Jensen a little further north than he had surfed before, a beach up in Point Mugu state park.  It was a hot day and the water felt like a sweet, cool kiss on Jensen’s sore muscles.  They surfed for at least three hours.  He was sure Jared would have gone longer but when Jensen’s energy started to fade it seemed like he noticed, suggesting they head to shore.  Jensen’s legs felt like silly putty when he was on dry land again and was thankful that Jared seemed content to lay with him in the hot sand, letting the bracing afternoon sun dry their skin.  It was a quiet beach where they could kiss and touch away from prying eyes, few words between them, as the sun rode low in the bright blue sky.   

 

“Let’s go back to my place, babe.  Let me cook for you,” Jared suggested.  It was nearly four and the traffic was gnarly but the classic rock station seemed to be playing a hand-picked set list of Jensen’s favorites and the drive back into Malibu proper went quickly, filled with their ridiculous singing and laughter.

 

Jared picked out some plum wine, a big box of soba noodles, some pork cutlets, and a slew of vegetables at the Pacific Mercantile where they stopped to buy supplies for dinner.  He barked orders at Tommy and Chad who were busy getting stoned in the kitchen when they finally got back to Jared’s. 

 

“Come on fellas, pull your weight around here once and a while.  Help me clean up the kitchen so I can cook.  I’ll make enough for you too but let’s start getting some of these beach skanks out of here. We’re picking up anchor soon anyway.”

 

Jensen helped clean the kitchen while Chad took out the trash and Tommy started evicting some of the beach vagabonds they had been collecting for the past few weeks.  Jensen couldn’t help but dwell on Jared’s words, despondent at the idea of losing him so soon.  Danni made it sound like this was the routine for them so he tried to ignore it, busying himself in wiping down the countertops, despite the sharp thorn of bitterness digging into his heart.

 

Jared showed off some serious wok skills as he cooked up the huge platter of stir fry.  They ate on the patio and watched the sunset, sipping the sticky sweet plum wine, and listening to the waves bash pound the rocks below.  The others all joined them for a while, drinking beers and stoking the fire pit, but they bailed one-by-one when Jared got quiet and began looking at Jensen like he was the dessert course. 

 

“You know the surfing’s pretty shitty here in the winter, right?”  Jared asked, smiling as he leaned over and kissed Jensen on the temple.  Jensen grinned back and gazed out over the water, marveling at the purple, pink, and gold sunset.  Winter seemed very far away and reality felt like something he read about in a book once.  He knew what Jared was getting at and understood it was a conversation they needed to have. 

 

“Yeah, I mean, Danni told me you weren’t exactly a permanent resident of Malibu.  You guys are getting ready to roll out of here for the season, right?” 

 

Jared inhaled deeply and tipped his head up to look at the sky, letting Jensen’s question hang in the silence.  There were clouds building up in the north and the air had started to smell of ozone, it would probably rain overnight.  He brought his gaze back to meet Jensen’s.

 

“So you like it here, Jen?  In LA?” 

 

That was Jared for you, answering a question with another question. 

 

“Yeah, of course.”  Jensen’s quick and overly enthusiastic response felt disingenuous, even though he meant it, well, mostly.  It wasn’t really LA that he had fallen in love with.  He back-pedaled gently.  “I mean, I’ve only been here for two months, Jay.  So I guess I’m not really sure?  Maybe I need more time here to answer that honestly.” 

 

The confession frustrated him.  He was usually so good at faking it but right now the only thing that felt like home was the wild, mysterious man sitting to his right. 

 

“It’s like I told you last night.  This is my second chance.  It’s supposed to be a clean slate, you know?  Even if it’s not perfect, it feels like I’m where I need to be, finally.” 

 

“Yeah, I know.  But it’s not your _last_ chance.  I’m just asking what’s here for _you_ , Jensen.  What’s keeping you in this soul-sucking urban sprawl?  What roots have you sewn?   Don’t they have lawyers back in Texas?”  Jared smiled, trying to lighten the mood.  He was getting intense and personal and seemed to know he was pushing buttons Jensen wasn’t sure he was ready to have pushed.  His fingers traced softly over Jensen’s knuckles as he bit his tongue and waited for Jensen to think through his answer. 

 

“Too many shadows…”

 

Jared watched him through the pause, still stroking his hand, eyes deep and sincere.

 

“The shadow of my dad.  My school, old friends, family...  The shadow of my former self, I guess.  I don’t know, fuck – I’m starting to sound like you.”  He let his eyes flick over to Jared’s face, unable to help but smirk back at the ridiculously handsome, dimpled grin Jared was giving him.   

 

“It’s not really all that deep, Jay.  I just came here for a job.  I have to try to make it work, right?”  Jensen looked back at him, expression as open and earnest as he can manage.  The bitter taste of his lies, his real purpose was welling up at the back of his throat. 

 

“No, don’t say that shit, you were on to something there.  There’s something deeper, there always is.  This town is fucking plastic and poison, man, and one day the sea is gonna swallow it whole – I just…”  They both felt the surge of intensity in Jared’s words.  At first it was like he was leading Jensen, pulling him along down a path of questioning in his easy, meandering way, and suddenly a switch was flipped.  The Jared that owned a copy of The Anarchist’s Cookbook was showing, the intense daredevil who was endlessly hungry and didn’t know how to take no for an answer was bubbling up to the surface. 

 

“I just hate that you’re in that stress-filled, soul-crushing job in this town that will make you sell and buy yourself back a thousand times over before it gives you what you want.  It makes me sick just thinking about you suffocating here.  It’s like planting a flower in the soil and putting an upside down trashcan over it.  Fucking infuriates me.”  Jared was looking out at the ocean, face hard and flushed, while his fingers still traced delicately over Jensen’s knuckles.  Jensen can feel the tension in Jared’s wrist, the tremor of his real, very deep, frustration. 

 

“It’s good enough for you to set up shop here when the waves are right though?  I mean what keeps you coming back here, Jared, if it sucks so goddamned bad?”  Jensen pulled his hand away, resting it on his thigh, wanting Jared to give him some sense of where this shift in mood was coming from. 

 

Jared tried to conceal a frustrated rush of breath as he stood up, taking a few long strides over to the railing.  He ran his hands through his hair and looked up at the sky.

 

“It’s just a means to an end, Jen.  This isn’t the life I want forever.  I just haven’t had a reason to change…”  Jared’s words trailed off as the last rays of sunlight slipped below the inky water at the edge of the sky. 

 

“Are you trying to…  Jay, is this you telling me that you want me to come with you?”  Jensen almost couldn’t get the words out as he finally peeled back the layers and saw the nugget of truth beneath all the misplaced frustration.  Jared rested his palms against the railing and let his head tip forward so his hair obscured his face.  His silence said it all.  He wanted Jensen to come with him.  Pick up everything and leave LA.    

 

“Jared – I…”  The thought was like a bucket of cold water splashing against Jensen’s face.  His whole life had led up to this job, it was chance to get it right and have the kind of life he was supposed to.  Jensen wasn’t a rebel.  As much as he daydreamed he wasn’t some punk rock surfer guru.  He couldn’t have this.  He didn’t even want this… Did he? 

 

He could feel Jared’s eyes on him in the low light as his mind raced a mile a minute.  There was a knot in his throat and a painful swelling in his chest, real physical pain caused by whatever the fuck Jared was trying to do to him.  They had only known one another for a few short days, a blink of an eye in the grand scheme of things.  Part of Jensen wanted to cross the deck and wrap himself around Jared, breathe in his saline-spicy sweetness and forget reality forever.  He stood up, feeling the tug of that invisible wire that had somehow bound him to Jared.  But he couldn’t cross the few feet to where Jared was standing, not without saying what he knew he had to.

 

“I – I can’t do that.  I’m not one of your surf-gypsies, Jay…” 

 

Jared lifted his head and looked out at the water again, skimming his hands back and forth across the glossy, white painted wood.  He seemed so far away even though Jensen could reach out and touch him.  Jensen knew he should probably go but Jared’s gravity wouldn’t let him waver.  He was stuck, locked between duty and desire, the disparate parts of his Piscean soul tugging in opposite directions.

 

“I know you feel it too, Jensen.  This connection.  I don’t know what it means exactly but I know it’s fucking _real_.  It’s the realest shit I’ve felt in I don’t know how long, maybe ever, and I just know that you’re the one I want to ride at my side.” 

 

The words were so pure, so earnest.  Jared turned slowly to face Jensen.  His face was shadowed and intense, backlit by the fading light in the indigo and purple sky.  Jensen’s lip quivered.  He bit down on it so the tremble would stop, continuing to search Jared’s face, trying to find the words, some answer to give that didn’t make Jensen feel like he was about to jump off a cliff. 

 

“Summer’s almost over, man.  We’re leaving… soon.  Real soon.  Won’t be back until next year and that’s too long.  I don’t want to wait that long, Jen.  I can’t...”

 

Jensen’s mouth opened but he couldn’t form words, his breath poured hot and wet over his lip but all he can do is lick at the indent made by his teeth.

 

“Come with me.  That’s what I’m asking you.  Will you come with me, Jensen?”  Jared stepped forward, embers of need, devotion, and sincere, soul-deep desire flickered in his eyes.  He didn’t wait for an answer, just sealed their lips together again, letting his hands and tongue speak in ways his words had failed.

 

Jensen was pulled out to sea by that kiss, sucked back down into that crystal-green abyss again where he was all instinct and his thoughts didn’t plague him. 

  

_________

  

Jensen didn’t get around to answering Jared’s question that night.  Sure, there were lots and lots of yeses, but neither of them were deluded enough to think that “FUCK YES, JAY, DON’T STOP” meant the same thing as “Yes, I’ll drop everything and run halfway across the planet with you.”  Jensen stayed the night, losing count of how many orgasms Jared was able to wring from his body. 

 

Jared was right, the connection was there.  It was as real as the sand on all 840 miles of California coastline, as real as all the fish in the ocean, all the birds in the sky.  If he was honest, Jensen felt it the first time they touched, shaking hands on that beach in Malibu.  It was the corniest fucking thought and Jensen wanted to punch himself in the face for even thinking something that sounded so much like “love at first sight” but it was what kept him there, in Jared’s bed, even considering it. 

 

He still had another day before he would be missed.  There was time.  He had time to think. 


	13. Wake Up Call

_“Your form extends beyond breakers,_  
 _vibrant, and rhythmic, like the chest, cloaking_  
 _a single being, and its breathings,_  
 _that lift into the content of light,_  
 _plains raised above waves,_  
 _forming the naked surface of earth._  
 _You fill your true self with your substance._  
 _You overflow curve with silence.”_

_from ‘The Wide Ocean’ – by Pablo Neruda_

**  
**

The buzz of the doorbell was so bracing it caused Jensen to sit straight up in bed.  It wasn’t a sound he heard often and it shocked him awake to hear it so early in the morning.  His eardrums reverberated in the aftermath of the sound as Jensen slumped back into his pillow. 

 

BUZZZZZZZZ!

 

“Motherfuck,” Jensen growled over the tail end of the harsh, electrical peal.  The second, longer buzz yanked him fully into reality, disoriented and pissed off, ears ringing and eyes burning as they flickered over the harsh red glow of his alarm clock.  It was just past five in the morning.  Jared stirred beside him, fading in and out of sleep before grumbling something unintelligible and pulling the covers up over his shoulder.

 

The trip to pick up Jared’s truck from Venice Beach ended with Jared buying them Thai food again before he proceeded to fuck Jensen on every flat surface in his apartment.  They had spent the last few hours sleeping peacefully, limbs entwined like vines, fucked out and loose with no plans for the next day.  Jensen imagined more mind-bending sex and leftover Pad Thai were in his future, not a pre-dawn wake up call.  It rained overnight and the morning forecast was cold, grey, and damp, the kind of weather that was perfect for spending snuggled up under the duvet until the sun burned off the chill. 

 

BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

 

Whoever was ringing Jensen’s doorbell was persistent and they were about to be fucking _dead_.  Jensen snagged his lightweight comforter from where it had fallen to the floor and tied it around his waist before staggering to the front door.  

 

He didn’t bother with the peep hole, too eager to lay into whomever was willing to wake him up this early on the weekend. 

 

“C'mon Jen, get your happy ass outta bed.  There's a righteous swell.  Let's go!  Chop, chop!”  Danni tittered at Jensen from the stoop.  She smiled wide and clapped her hands together, entirely too fucking chipper for her own good. 

 

“Shit, did we have a lesson, or…?”  Jensen groaned, his mood softened immediately once he saw it was Danni.  He raked his hand over his face and squinted at her in the glare of his porch light. 

 

Her hair was damp and pulled back in a messy knot on top of her head and she was draped in an oversized grey sweatshirt that was cut way too low to be keeping her warm in the damp morning chill.  He hadn’t seen her in a few days, since the night of Jared’s party, and he immediately felt guilty for being so out of touch.  Before he could stutter an apology, the ridiculous smile plastered on her face melted away and her eyes cast downward quickly. 

 

Jensen glanced back over his shoulder to see Jared standing nude at the edge of the kitchen, running his fingers through his hair, and yawning loudly. 

 

“Hey, Danni,” Jared said, voice rough with sleep.  He gave her a quick wave and ducked back into Jensen’s bedroom. 

 

Jensen really wanted to have time to talk to Danni about Jared before things had gotten this intense.  It had only been a few days since Jared’s get together, but the situation had been magnified by Jensen’s mandatory sick leave and his desire to escape reality.  Her presence here now was a major dose of the stuff, bringing the whole fucked up situation into focus so quickly it left Jensen feeling nauseous.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you…”  Danni’s eyes flashed a look of disappointment that she quickly buried before turning on her heel to leave.  Jensen reached for her instinctually, placing his hand on her shoulder. 

 

“No, Danni, wait.  I – ”

 

His mind was a blur with a million excuses to give, apologies to offer, but the words dropped like lead onto his tongue, keeping him silent.  He couldn’t actually bring himself to say, “It’s not what it looks like” – it very obviously was _exactly_ what it looked like.  It wasn’t an “I’m sorry,” either.   What did he have to be sorry for?  Jared said there wasn’t anything between him and Danni anymore and Jensen wasn’t hiding what had developed between him and Jared either, he just hadn’t exactly had a chance to talk to her since whatever this was had started.

 

“Sorry for coming by unplanned, Jen,” she said, turning her head to look back at him, expression tight and controlled, like she had been when they first met.  “Came down early since I’m workin’ the first shift.  Figured the storm last night would make the conditions perfect.  I was right, so I thought I’d give you a head’s up.” 

 

Her eyes spoke volumes but he didn’t press her for more.  He let his hand slide off her shoulder. 

 

“You should tell Jay that his boys are already down there. I saw Zach’s truck.  Anyway, guess I’ll see ya’ around.” 

                                                                                                                                                                      

Jensen let her go without further argument.  He sighed as he shut the door, feeling like a major asshole for dragging Danni in his wake on this ridiculous case.  He knew he was in a precarious situation on all sides, locked in a stalemate of his own creation.  He was ignoring his job and his duty for a self-indulgent joy ride and, at the same time, deceiving people he had grown incredibly close to in a short period of time.  On top of it all, he was no closer to collaring the Turtles than he had been on his first day in LA.  He was in deep now and Danni wouldn’t be there to yank him out of the undertow when the lies crashed down around him.  He dragged himself back to the bedroom, ready to sleep for another few hours.

 

“Come on, you know she wouldn’t come wake your ass up if it wasn’t perfect out there, babe.” 

 

Jensen would have given anything to find Jared naked in his bed, tucked up under the covers fast asleep, but unsurprisingly he already had his jeans on and was holding Jensen’s wetsuit, holding it out to him as if the floppy, thick fabric looked inviting.  Jensen had no intention of giving up the warm embrace of his bed for the icy arms of the ocean and held up his hand in affront.  Jared just smiled and looked around for his other shoe, waiting for Jensen to come around.  Jensen sighed, dropping the blanket he had slung around his waist and taking the wetsuit from Jared.  Now that his mind was awake and racing and he could already smell the briny, slowly rotting smell of the sea wafting in on the early morning breeze.  It was in his blood now, there was no denying it.

 

_________

  

Jensen dropped Jared at his truck in Venice and gave him a gentle kiss goodbye as he agreed to meet him in Malibu.  The storm that tumbled down the coast overnight had left the predawn unseasonably cold and foggy, drained of all color.  Steel gray tones replaced the vibrant hues of the prior night’s sunset and Jensen’s forearms were pebbled with goose bumps.  The wet pavement hissed under the tires of Jensen’s Mustang as he flew up the PCH.  

 

Danni had barely beaten them there.  Her Porsche was parked with its lights still on next to a gunmetal grey pickup that Jensen recognized from Jared’s driveway.  It must have been Zach’s.  Her board poked out of the side of her beat up soft-top and Jensen could see her silhouette contorting in the front seat as she put on her wetsuit.  He parked on the opposite side of the lot and was getting his board out just as Jared pulled up next to him.  He bounded out of the white Nissan with the excited energy of a golden retriever, board in arm, scanning the beach for his buddies. 

 

“Danni called it, man.  It’s gorgeous out there even if we are gonna freeze our tits!  Remind me to thank her later,” Jared shouted at Jensen over din of the waves.  He was grinning like a child, eager to get out and play. 

 

“Go ahead, Jay.  I’m gonna wait for Danni.”  He wanted to clear the air between him and Danni, if it was needed. 

 

“See you out there, babe,” Jared replied, his smile stretched wide and infectious across his gorgeous face.  Jared’s passion and joy spilled over Jensen as he pulled him into a quick hug, planting a whisper-soft kiss on his temple.  Their damp fingers tangled together for a moment, eyes meeting in the pale-grey dawn before he headed out to meet his boys. 

 

Jensen watched Jared jog down the wet, softly sloping sand.  The ocean was so dark it was almost black where it vanished beneath the fog only about twenty feet from shore.  The waves that punched through the billowy white fog were gorgeous.  Huge and fluid, forming perfect blue-green barrels that picked up what little sunlight bled through the clouds, adding whispers of turquoise and sea green to the otherwise drab gray landscape. 

 

He stood lost in his own thoughts for a long time. He imagined waking up and walking out onto a beach like that every day, never having to put a tie around his neck again. He imagined living the rest of his days with Jared by his side – surfing, fucking, and howling at the moon together – until their over-tanned skin sagged from their bodies. He imagined Jared’s gold-blue eyes being the last sight he saw on earth, dying together, hand in hand, surrounded by friends who would give them Viking funerals, burned side by side on a raft pushed out to sea.  

 

Jesus Fucking Christ he really did need to talk to that shrink, and not just about the shooting.

 

“What are you waiting for?”  Danni asked over Jensen’s shoulder.  Her voice yanked him out of the bizarre fantasy, one that felt more like his life flashing before his eyes than an innocent daydream. 

 

“Uh – hey!  Yeah, sorry, Danni.  Just lost in my own head for a minute.  Thought I’d wait for you.  Jay’s already out there.”

 

“Well come on, time to wake up, Ackles!”  She grabbed his wrist and tugged him toward the beach.  She was exuberant again, probably overcompensating for her reaction earlier, but he just went with it and tagged along behind her toward the surf.  He couldn’t keep his eyes off the sea, feeling almost mesmerized by the grey-green monster out there under the cotton-soft veil of fog.  He caught glimpses of black neoprene, neon air-brushed flames, bare skin and long, wet hair as Jared and his friends caught their first set. 

 

Danni paused in the sand and dumped her towel, bending over to strap her board leash to her ankle.  Dragging his eyes away from the guys, Jensen followed suit and braced himself for the cold water.  Danni charged out into the surf but he took a moment to let the foamy water lap up around his bare feet, letting himself be lulled by the swirling fog and rush of the waves before diving in behind her.  Movement caught his eye again and four figures appeared as the vapor parted. 

 

They were just silhouettes in the fog at first, shifting shades of gray against gray.  They soared down the face of the wave together, almost in slow motion, hypnotic shapes, merging and unmerging as they crossed one another down the slope.  Zachary, with his dark, curly hair pulled back in a knot, salt and pepper stubble on his cheeks, and the grace of an eastern mystic, squatted low and leaned deep as he cut down to the base of the wave.  Jared surged behind him, masterful and massive, graceful and fluid like the sea beneath him, his bright smile cutting through the haze like a beacon.  Tommy sliced between them, whooping and hollering like a warrior after a bloody battle, fist punching the sky.  Chad fell in line, pure wicked, youthful, insolence raking his hand through his sun-kissed blonde shock of hair, surfing in neon orange board shorts and no shirt despite the chill. 

 

They moved like dolphins playing, challenging one another in mock combat.  So comfortable together, no words spoken, just in sync, boards slashing past one another with mere inches to spare.  Moving together as a team, each painted with a different color, vibrant against the steely grey waves and ashen sky.  Fiercely loyal and connected, individuals bound together into something larger.  They oozed freedom, exhilaration, and power, fueled by some deep tribal bond, one that had been forged through mastery of their sport.  For the first time Jensen really saw them, stripped down and pure.  Like the four horsemen of the apocalypse, riding toward Jensen on the crest of a vast wave of synergy and passion, bloodthirsty and free. 

 

Jensen felt so far outside of that, it almost took his breath away.  The power of the realization sliced into him, evaporating the fantasies he had before that still tickled at the edge of his consciousness.  He could never be a part of that, not really.  No matter how connected he felt to Jared, there was something between these men, a deep soulful bond, like the ones formed in battle.  Jensen couldn’t hold a candle to that, not when what was growing between them had a foundation of dishonesty. What the fuck was he doing?  He was too caught up in this and badly needed to clear his head. 

 

“Hey, Jensen.  Are you okay?  You look like you saw a ghost.”  Danni was walking back up the beach toward him, looking concerned.  She must have already taken a set of her own, looking wet and flushed from the cold.

 

Chad’s orange shorts flashed at the edge of Jensen’s peripheral and Tommy shouted triumphantly into the sky.  He looked past Danni and out at the men, seeing a sudden burst of pale skin as Chad yanked down the neon fabric and bared his ass cheeks, shaking his hips.  His ass glowed like the full moon against the sandy brown of his lower back and the bright swatch of orange material that barely concealed his balls.  He slapped the pale skin with both hands, managing not to bite it into the surf, before he hoisted the shorts back up, diving into the foam as the wave dissipated. 

 

It felt like taking a right hook directly in the solar plexus.  Sun glinted into Jensen’s eyes as the sun started to cut through the fog, his mind utterly drowning in the dawning certainty of what he had witnessed.  He was instantly weak and dizzy, like the ground was moving under him.  He shook his head.  No, no, no, no…  _Fucking NO_.  It was just a coincidence.  It had to be…  Didn’t it?

 

Danni got in his face, her hand clamped on his shoulder as she tried to shake him out of his trance. 

 

“Dammit, Jensen!  Are you okay?”  She slapped his cheek gently with her cold, wet palm.  “Holy shit man, you look like someone just walked over your grave.  What the fuck is going on?” 

 

There was real concern in her voice but Jensen couldn’t look at her. He felt fragile like if he looked into her eyes his reality would shatter into a million pieces, like everything around him was about to be shredded by tiny, razor-like fragments of crystal. The house of cards was falling down.

 

“Sorry, Danni.  I... I gotta go.”  His throat was dry and he struggled to catch his breath as he pulled out of her grip.  He couldn’t even make his legs work for a moment as he used every fiber of his will to hold his shit together.  She kept at him, following him as he began to trudge up the beach, towel and hoodie forgotten in a pile on the damp sand. 

 

“Jensen what's going on?  I don't get it... did I do something?  I’m not upset about Jared, I mean, I guess I was shocked that you of all people got sucked into his bullshit but believe me, _I understand_.  Is it Jared?  Did he do something?  Tell me.  Shit, Ackles you’re fucking scaring me.  Are you having a stroke?!”  She kept trying to look into his eyes, tugging at his wetsuit desperately.  He kept his eyes trained on the powder blue of his Mustang, pushing forward through the sand.  His eyes wouldn’t focus and he was reeling in every possible sense.  He just knew he had to get the fuck out of there so he could clear his head, try to get his arms around everything so he could discern fact from fiction. 

“No. No.  Danni, I'm sorry.  I just have to go.  I'll, uh... I'll call you later.  Please, tell Jared –” The name on his tongue felt foreign, wrong… terrifying, “Tell him I'm sorry too, it’s just – this, uh, case I’m on.  I just thought of something.  It’s _really_ important.  It can’t wait.”  Jensen swallowed hard and steeled his resolve.  He yanked the leash off his board and set off running up the beach.

 

_______

 

“Get it _to-fucking-gether,_ Ackles.  You’re fucking delusional.  This is no different than the Weiss bullshit.  Your intuition is all fucked up and you don’t know up from down right now.  Poisoned by whatever toxic sludge is being pumped into the ocean. Saltwater on the fucking brain. I don’t fucking know but you need to get your shit together.  Thinking with your dick isn’t doing you any fucking favors.  CHRIST!” Jensen shouted, slammed his hands against the steering wheel.   
  
“You fucking killed someone less than forty-eight hours ago and you’re running on too little sleep and a lack of fluids and you’re trying to find ANY fucking reason to fuck up the first good thing you’ve had in fuck knows how long.  There has to be an explanation.  There has to…” 

He continued laying into himself under his breath as he sped, white knuckled, down the wet freeway.  He was scared that if he let the tirade stop, his mind might start playing tricks on him again, pulling made up details out of thin air. 

 

“FUCK!”  He slammed his fist into the steering wheel again at the next stop light, flinching as the horn beeped and the bones in his hand ground together from the impact.  He could still fucking smell Jared on his skin, taste him on his lips, and now his fucked up brain was trying to poison it.

 

“No.  Just no.  You’re NOT going to do this to yourself.  It’s the fear of failure corrupting your mind, that’s all it is.  Fucking PTSD.  You’re logical.  Approach this logically.  Take a shower, go see the shrink, call your partner.  Clear your fucking head.”

 

He was just driving aimlessly which was only compounding the problem, adding to his feeling of lost hopelessness.  He focused and tried to pick a destination, realizing he was all the way over by LAX and feeling light headed.  He pulled off the highway, turning off into the parking lot of a Wenchell’s.  Coffee.  Coffee would help.  He pushed past the acid clawing at his stomach lining and ordered a large coffee, ignoring the sweet, fried aroma of fresh donuts that wafted up over the counter. He was worried he might throw up. The acrid heat of black coffee would help settle his knotted stomach and inject some clarity into his senses. Fuck, if what he was thinking were true…

 

There was a graffiti-covered payphone at the side of the small, run-down strip mall. He fished some of the change the cashier had handed him out of the zippered pocket in his wetsuit and dialed the number to the office. He let the coffee scald his lips and tongue as he took impatient little sips, blowing at it through the opening in the plastic lid, while it rang.  

 

Reception answered and gave him the address to the FBI approved psychiatrist.  Dr. Valerie McCutcheon would be waiting for him. 

 

_______

 

Caffeine, a bracingly hot shower, and a fresh set of clothes helped clear Jensen’s mind and prepare him for his drive to the Valley.  Dr. McCutcheon’s office was nestled in a small office park in Sherman Oaks instead of being located on another floor of the FBI building like Jensen had expected.  It was further than he wanted to drive in his present frame of mind but getting an appointment on short notice was worth the stop-and-go freeway traffic.  He needed to be cleared and back at work so he could get to the bottom of his suspicions. 

 

The appointment was not at all what Jensen had anticipated.  Valerie was a statuesque woman in a plum suit who was younger than her hair and clothes suggested.  A few tendrils of her brown hair fell out of the tight bun on her head, framing her tortoise shell glasses and she smiled at him warmly and attentively whenever he spoke.  She reminded Jensen of everything his mother wasn’t; patient, calm, and astute in her observations.  It was odd, spilling his guts about things that had nothing to do with the case, but once he started talking it was as if a valve was opened and he was unable to stop. 

 

He ended up spending an extra hour stretched out on her couch, talking through everything that had happened since he got to LA, and then some. Neither of them mentioned that the session had run over and Jensen assumed it would be on the FBI’s dime anyway. He left out some of the more colorful details and ended his soul-dump with what together they determined was the problem: Jensen’s tendency to make everything about work to the point that his paranoia had spilled over into his love life. Clearly it had to be what was happening here. It was the only rational explanation. 

 

“It’s like I know I’m doing it but I can’t stop.  It’s like watching a car wreck happen.  It all goes into slow motion but there’s nothing I can do…” 

 

Dr. McCutcheon had heard most of Jensen’s life story at this point, from being a closeted pretty boy his entire adolescence until football finally validated him, only to have it all ripped away by his injury.  She didn’t bat an eyelash in judgment and stopped scribbling notes on the pad in front of her when the discussion stopped being about the man he killed in the line of duty.

 

“You’re a logical and deeply passionate man, Jensen.  You spent twenty minutes at the beginning of the session telling me how much you loved the FBI like you were recruiting for them.  You love solving puzzles, doing the right thing, making a difference.  Most of all I think you like to be in control.  I think this relationship scares you because it takes away the control that your career gives you.  It removes the structure and regimen.  This guy sounds like the polar opposite of you in many ways.  He’s bottled lightning, chaos with a six-pack.  Maybe he’s just what you need?”  Valerie looks at him over the top of her glasses, smiling warmly. 

 

“I know.  I know…  how do I fix this..?”  Jensen was exhausted and the emotional wringer he just put himself through made his mind stutter-stop in confusion, like he was grasping for answers that turned to smoke between his fingers.

 

“Do what you were trained to do.  Investigate.  Prove to yourself that your theories are wrong.  Otherwise you’ll never be comfortable in the situation and your head will keep trying to escape what your heart really needs.” 

 

He wanted to hug her, he wanted to kiss her.  He settled on taking her card and making an appointment to come see her again in a month, when it wasn’t about being cleared to return to duty.   He followed Valerie’s advice and headed back to Malibu where he would try to find out more about what Jared and his buddies were up to.

 

_______

 

 

It was early evening by the time Jensen finally called Jim from a pay phone outside a Ralph’s in Van Nuys.  He tried to remain focused and calm as he relayed what he had discovered.

 

His partner sounded more tired and rough than usual.  “Agent Beaver.” 

 

Jensen’s voice caught in his throat for a moment, the weight in his chest heavy and painful.  He envisioned himself hanging up and forgetting everything he’d seen that day, packing a bag and running to Jared, ready to follow him to the end of the earth and never look back.   

 

“Uh, hey, Jim.  It’s me.  We gotta talk,” Jensen finally spit out.  He knew it would haunt him if he didn’t finish this due diligence.  He could never be happy or free with the questions that spun in his mind.  He had to see it through and to do that he needed Jim’s help. 

 

“God damn it Ackles, where the hell have you been?  You can’t just suffer your first serious on-the-job trauma and drop off the face of the earth like that, kid.  I was about to make Morgan give me your address so I could stop by your place.” 

 

“Shit, Jim.  I’m really sorry but I can explain.  It’s important.  It’s about the case.” 

 

“Just common courtesy…” Jim trailed off, sounding legitimately hurt but interested enough in what Jensen had to say to spare him a lengthy speech. 

 

“Do you remember that surfer who saved my ass from the Weiss brothers?  The one I told you recognized me from college ball?”

 

“Uh, yeah.  One of your girlfriend’s buddies, right?” 

 

“She’s not my girlfriend, Jim,” Jensen was quick to correct.

 

“Yeah, yeah I know – _she’s your fucking surf instructor_ – whatever, get to the point.” 

 

“Ok, the guy’s name is Jared Padalecki.  He’s… I’ve… been surfing with him and his crew, gotten really close to them and… let’s just say I have some concerns.”

 

“Not this shit again, Ackles.  If you recall, some of your more recent “concerns” just caused a major goddamned shit storm around here.  Had me buried in paperwork all fucking week!  And, in case you didn’t notice, your ass is on the bench over it until you get your head checked,” Jim fumed. 

 

“Look, I got my clearance to come back today but I have to dig deeper into this lead.  I really need your help.  Will you just hear me out?”

 

“Fine, keep talkin’,” Jim huffed into the phone.  Jensen could hear the chair creak as Jim leaned back and he imagined his partner with his feet propped up on his desk in the bullpen. 

 

He told Jim about Jared in as much detail as he was able to without revealing the extent of their relationship or the depth of his suspicions.  He took care to frame the story so Jim didn’t jump to conclusions like he had at first.  The pieces seemed to fit but only about as well as they did with the Nazi punks.  It was really hard not letting it slide that he was more intent to _disprove_ his suspicions, or that he was almost certain he had fallen hard for the person he just spent several hours tailing. 

 

“So, anyway, after I got my sign-off to return this morning, I decided to follow him.  I found Jared down at the beach and just kept my distance.  I was on him all day.  After surfing he put gas in his truck, went to Tower Records to buy some CDs, and had lunch at Patrick's Road House over on La Brea.  Then, he goes into the Assured Trust Savings and Loan in Van Nuys.”

 

“Ooh, did he rob it?”  Jim asked obnoxiously. 

 

“Cute. Anyway, he was inside for about twenty minutes. Then, his friend Zach pulled up behind his truck, across the street from the bank. Jared came out and they talked for a minute. Jared left and Zach sat out front in his truck for another thirty minutes or so and then took off.”

 

“So, you think they were scoping it out, right?”  Jim was trying to conceal the excitement in his voice and failing, Jensen was quick to correct course.

 

“Yeah, or just cashing a check.  Look, Jared told me his lease was up soon and he and his buddies are going to Fiji to surf for a few weeks before going to Brazil for the winter.  It could have just been them exchanging funds for the trip or something, I don’t know.”

 

“Cool story, Ackles.  What’s your point?” Jim’s sarcasm was a sign he was out of patience.

 

“They do this every year, Jim.  I’ve gotten close, Jared he – he asked me to go with them.”

 

“Wait, what?  Shit, I clearly underestimated your undercover skills.  Why are you telling me this? Do you have any solid proof?”

 

“No, of course not.  That’s why I need your help.  I’m going back to see Jared tonight.  I’m gonna try and find out more, figure out what the hell was up with their movements today.  Find out when they’re leaving.”  The pain that swelled within him at the thought was almost as alarming as watching Jared at the bank earlier in the day.  “But I need you to dig.  Find out more about these guys.  I’ll fax you their names, plate numbers, physical descriptions – everything I have.  Dig up everything you can.  Where they work, if they fucking pay taxes, you know – investigate.” 

 

“Why don’t you just get your happy ass back down here and help me, Ackles?  We’ll cover a lot more ground with us both on it.  I mean, it’s more than we had on the Weiss’ brothers and we were able to get a warrant.  I’m sure if we pull an all-nighter we can dig up enough crap on these assholes to have Morgan eating out of your hand come morning.” 

 

Jim was right.  Jensen knew what he saw.  All the pieces of the puzzle were lining up.  His silence was deafening.

 

“Why am I under the impression you want me to prove your theory wrong?”  Jim grumbled, seeing through Jensen like a plate glass window.

 

“I can’t go on feelings right now, man.  It’s important.  Please don’t bring this up to Morgan until we talk again and we’re both positive on this.”  Jensen could hear the tightness in his own throat.  He didn’t want to be right about this, not in a million years. 

 

“I’m with you there, man.  Last time you got a feeling I had to kill a man, which I always hate because it looks bad on the report.  Send the shit over and let me see what I can do. Call me at the office later.  I’m gonna go brew a fresh pot of coffee and get started.” 


	14. For Rent

It was a hot night.  The air was muggy and it clung to Jensen’s skin like saran wrap despite the breeze that picked up as he got closer to the coast. 

 

After faxing Jim his handwritten notes from the Kinko’s down the street, Jensen headed home.  His apartment reeked of sex and the subtle, spicy-sweet smell of Jared’s skin in the humid night air.  It made his heart ache so he opened the sliding glass door and the window in his bedroom to get some fresh air flowing before he hopped in the shower for the second time that day. 

 

It might have been Jared’s left over pheromones or just his body’s natural reaction to an intense day filled stress but as the lukewarm water spilled over his skin, his dick plumped up and he found his hands wandering over the bruises Jared’s long fingers had left around his hips.  It took him almost ten minutes to get off but he stayed persistent, desperately needing the release.  He jacked his cock and fingered himself open using a few squirts of the cheap conditioner he barely ever used on his hair.  He rocked back against his fist, leaning against the shower wall, and punished his cock with rough, long strokes, squeezing the head brutally on the upstroke.  When he finally came, it was almost disappointing.  He didn’t feel any less on-edge after he came, his mind was still whirring and his body still throbbed with a soul-deep ache. 

 

He towel dried his hair quickly and pulled on a tight, black v-neck t-shirt with a pair of burgundy jogging shorts, shoving socked feet into his navy blue trainers.  The red light on his answering machine was blinking as he crossed the living room on his way out.  He didn’t check the messages this time.  Instead, he drove over to Jared’s, unsure of what he would find. 

 

Jared’s truck was the only vehicle in the driveway for once and there was shiny ‘FOR RENT’ sign poking up out of the bushes next to the mailbox.  The photo of the leasing agent’s face next to her phone number was almost nauseating, her blonde coiffure and beauty queen smile almost mocking him as he walked up to the house.  Jensen smiled back at her ironically and waved. 

 

He was thrumming with nervous energy and doing his best to treat the visit as work instead of pleasure.  He wasn’t sure which it would end up being and tried not to think about which he’d prefer.  That was supposed to be what all this shit was about anyway, his undercover mission.  If his superiors or his partner had any idea how far off the deep end Jensen had really gone, they would have his badge for sure.

 

Jensen saw Jared’s head bobbing between the cabinets through the kitchen window as he approached.  It looked like he was packing.  He took a deep breath as he opened the screen door, knocking as he stepped over the foyer.  “Jared?  Jay?  Hey, man, you here?” 

 

Jared stepped out of the kitchen holding a large cardboard box.  There was a look of question laced concern on his face.  He was wearing a faded, holey Doors t-shirt and ratty cut-off jean shorts with a white knit beanie on his head that caused his dark hair to fan out over his neck.  His expression quickly washed with calm realization at seeing Jensen, eyes bright and pleased, but he wasn’t smiling with that beautiful dimpled grin Jensen had grown to love. 

 

“Hey, man,” Jared said softly before turning to carry the heavy box into the dining room, stacking it with several others near the pool table.  Jared was uncharacteristically quiet and took a little longer than he needed straightening the boxes with his back to Jensen.  The silence between them no longer felt comfortable, not with the weight Jensen was carrying. 

 

“Listen, Jared.  About this morning… I’m sorry –” The lump in Jensen’s throat made his voice quiver.  He swallowed the rest of his sentence, the gulp seeming overly loud in his own ears. 

 

“I wasn’t sure if I’d see you again,” Jared said frankly, turning to face him again.  “Look, Jen, I know you think I’m moving too fast…”

 

Jensen sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to get centered as Jared spoke.

 

“Hey, no, don’t do that.  Don’t shut yourself off to me.  It doesn’t matter,” Jared said, grabbing Jensen’s forearm to pull his hands away from his face.  “You’re here now, that’s all I care about.  I’m sorry too.  I know I can be… kind of intense.”  Jared smiled and rubbed the back of his neck, tilting his eyes toward the floor. 

 

“ _Kind of_ intense?” Jensen raised his eyebrow, smiling so Jared could see it was a loving dig. 

 

Jared tilted his head back in a big belly laugh before he closed the distance between them.  He ran his hand up Jensen’s arm and squeezed his shoulder. “You’re not exactly lacking in intensity either, man.  Just sayin’…”  Jared held the eye contact like he was searching for a wordless explanation, some sign of what was making Jensen so skittish.  “You want the last game of pool?”  He asked, motioning to the pool table. 

 

“Say what?” Jensen was still caught up in his head, not to mention Jared’s gorgeous stare. 

 

“Well Zachary just took a load of stuff over to the storage facility.  He’ll be back in a bit and I’m pretty sure the pool table and these boxes are next on the list.” 

 

“So you’re leaving, like, _now_?”  Jensen was expecting the news but it still ached.

 

“Yeah, in the next few days...”  A brief flicker of sadness splashed across Jared’s face before he grabbed a pool cue from the stand and shoved it into Jensen’s hand.  “Got word the waves at Black Rock are bitchin’ right now.  Gonna do some heavy grinding in Fiji between now and when the beast hits Rio in the fall.  My invitation still stands, by the way…”  He slipped past Jensen and kissed the back of his neck softly as he grabbed the chalk from its spot on the cue rack.  “Don’t worry about that now, alright.  Just play with me.”

 

The gentle kiss made goose bumps race up Jensen’s arms, stiffening his nipples under his thin t-shirt.  He cleared his throat and tried to shake it off as he watched Jared begin fishing the balls out of the pockets, setting them in the wooden rack that rested on top of the deep blue felt. 

 

“You break,” Jared said after setting the balls. He leaned his cue against the wall and went into the kitchen, grabbing them each a Pacifico from the fridge. 

 

Jensen wasn’t a great pool player.  It had been years since he had messed around on the table in his parent’s rec room so saying he was rusty was a bit of an understatement.  He could feel Jared’s eyes on him as he took his time chalking the tip of his cue and lining up the shot.  His break was sloppy at best, definite amateur hour.  He tried to stop his obviously shitty performance from making his face flush red but he could already feel the tips of his ears heating up.  He shook his head in disappointment and turned to chalk his cue again, just for something to do, something to keep his eyes off Jared.  His frustration wasn’t being helped any by Jared’s easy smile, boisterous laugh, and Grand Canyon sized dimples. 

 

They played through a few turns, Jensen doing his best to humor Jared with this “last game.”  Jensen’s heart wasn’t in it, there was too much on his mind.  He was already feeling like he’d lost control of the situation which was exactly what he hadn’t wanted.  To make matters worse, he and Jared weren’t talking much and the normally calm comfort between them was somewhat tense and uncertain.  Jensen downed half his beer, trying to let the alcohol ease his mind but the bitter fizz just scalded his throat and made him knit his brow in a half-hearted scowl. 

 

Jensen played hard and careless and on his next turn knocked a ball off the table with an aggressive, poorly aimed shot.  His reaction was overly dramatic without intending to be.  The emotion he was repressing bubbled to the surface and he chucked his cue onto the table, knocking several of the balls out of place.  He huffed loudly and stomped across the floor to pick up the errant ball, angry like it was the ball’s fault it hopped off the table and rolled across the room. 

 

When he turned around with it in his hand Jared was there behind him, right in his space, tall as a goddamned sequoia.  Jared took the ball and smiled down at Jensen with their faces only a few inches apart.  It was a taunt, a tease, and it was fucking ridiculous how good looking Jared was in that moment.  Jared pulled off his beanie and tossed it on top of the box behind Jensen, running his fingers through his cascade of soft, chestnut hair and licking his pliant pink lips.  Jensen emotions were so tangled up that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss Jared or punch him. 

 

Jared reached past him to slip the ball in the corner pocket.  He picked up the abandoned cue and pushed it against Jensen’s chest.  “Here, let me help,” he said softly, eyelashes fluttering as he let his eyes roam over Jensen’s face.  

 

Jensen wrapped both hands around the cue, stubbornly clinging to his frustration.  Jared slipped behind him, slotting his hot, hard body against Jensen and pressed him closer to the pool table.  Jared ran his hands down Jensen’s arms as he got in position to take another shot. 

 

“You just have to be a little more patient.  Line up your shot, really think about the speed, power, and trajectory of your ball.” 

 

Jensen gulped and shut his eyes, unable to focus on any of that shit when Jared was surrounding him, filling all of his senses.  Jensen could feel his body tense up as he struggled to stay still and keep his tongue silent.  He wanted desperately to grind back into Jared but he wasn’t about to give him the pleasure of seeing him so weak, so soon. 

 

“Come on,” Jared said, nudging the cue and guiding his arms, demanding he focus on the shot instead of the way Jared was making him feel.  It wasn’t working. 

 

A few more breaths, a few more moments in the thick, heady silence and Jared gripped the cue himself and curled around Jensen, all crowded up behind him, leaning over to slide the cue along the felt.  "So, which hole should I sink it in, Jen?" Jared’s voice was a low, playful growl in Jensen’s ear. 

 

Jensen sunk his teeth into his bottom lip but it wasn’t enough to prevent the small groan from escaping his throat.  Jared ignored the sound and bent them forward further, taking aim, still pretending it was about pool. 

 

In this position, Jensen’s ass was tilted up at a dangerous angle against Jared’s tight abdomen but there were still a few careful inches separating it from Jared’s dick.  As Jared moved his hands, aiming the cue, Jensen’s resistance crumbled.  He pushed back, pressing his plush little butt up against the seam of Jared’s shorts. 

 

Jared sucked in a breath and tilted his face against Jensen’s temple, inhaling Jensen’s scent.  He ran his nose through the hair behind Jensen’s ear and crushed his lips against his earlobe. 

 

“Jesus, _fuck_ do you have any idea what you do to me?” He groaned before sweeping his tongue over the edge of Jensen’s ear and kissing down the side of his neck.  Jared’s cock fattened rapidly, pressed sweetly between the swell of Jensen’s ass cheeks.  Jensen arched against him like a cat desperate to feel the stroke of its owner’s hand.  

 

“I’ve got a pretty good idea, yeah.” Jensen groaned as he circled his hips, rutting back into the hard line of Jared’s erection. 

 

Jared put the cue down on the table and stood, letting his hands trail along Jensen’s arms, up over his shoulders and down his sides as he peeled their bodies apart.  His hands circled Jensen’s waist, pushing up under his t-shirt to get at skin, squeezing tight and pulling their hips together, thumbs dipping below the elastic of his waistband.

 

Jensen slid his elbows out so his chest rested against the smooth, wooden ledge of the pool table.  He felt so pliant and willing under Jared’s hands, the touch of his long, talented fingers seemed to massage away the stress and concern.  Losing control under Jared like this wasn’t frightening, it was freeing. 

 

Jared groaned as he felt Jensen’s muscles relax, as if he were sensing the release of tension, his submission.  He gently thrust the hard curve of his cock along Jensen’s balls and taint, hands gliding down over the loose, thin fabric of Jensen’s jogging shorts.  He huffed out a ragged breath, fingertips questing lower, grazing over the soft skin at the back of Jensen’s thighs. 

 

“You want it right here, don’t you baby?  Gonna let me push these little shorts aside and just slide right in.  Right here where anyone could walk in and see you getting fucked.  See that you’re _mine_.”  Jared growled out the last word as his finger tugged at the thin strip of fabric covering Jensen’s crotch.  His thumb swiped inside, caressing the curve of Jensen’s ass cheek, dipping down to trace over his sweat-damp hole. 

 

Jensen’s dick throbbed where it was wedged up against the pool table.  His balls clenched, releasing a huge spurt of precome against the nylon.  “Fuck, yes.  Jared, please,” he gasped, spreading his legs and tipping his ass back to give his cock some relief. 

 

Jared was true to his word, pulling back just enough to pull Jensen’s shorts to the side.  A cool gust of air washed over his spread open ass cheeks, eliciting a soft moan from his lips. 

 

Jared crouched down behind him, whispering hot and damp against the exposed skin.  “So pretty, Jen.”  He licked a broad, wet stripe up his crack, tracing the path his thumb made in reverse.  The lick was wet, slow, and heavenly, meant to slick him well.  “Pretty little pussy.”  He muttered, breathless, dipping his fingers inside.

 

Jensen groaned, feeling his body yield, he was still open and slick from his own fingers earlier. 

 

Jared took notice, groaning as his fingers slipped in to the knuckle, twisting and flicking up to tease at his prostate.  “Mmm, fuck.  Got that hole all ready for me, didn’t you, baby?  Came over here to get fucked.”  He twisted his fingers in Jensen’s twitching, needy hole, sliding deeper. 

 

“Yes, God, Jay.  Thinkin’ about it all day.  Couldn’t even come right without your cock inside me, fingers not enough…  Please…”  Jensen’s whine didn’t even sound like his voice, but it made Jared groan and slip his fingers out.  He pulled back and spit onto Jensen’s rim, sliding his thumbs inside to the first knuckle.

 

“Shh, babe, I got you.”  Jared soothed as he worked his thumbs inside Jensen’s rim, top to bottom, pulling outward to help the muscle yield.  After a few minutes of stretching, Jared pulled his right hand away, continuing to pump his left thumb in and out. 

 

The sound of the zipper was loud in the quiet room.  Jensen turned his head to watch Jared over his shoulder as he pulled out his dick, spit into his palm, and slicked it up.  His thumb slipped free, hand still holding Jensen’s cheeks apart.  Jared watched Jensen take him, his eyes fluttering closed after he had slid inside about half way.  Jensen hissed from the burn as the thickest part of Jared’s long shaft stilled inside him. 

  
"Always so fuckin’ tight for me, Jen. _Fuck_ ," Jared groaned, gripping Jensen’s hips and pulling out a few inches.  He spit at their point of connection, rubbing the moisture in with his thumb before sinking back in with short, shallow little thrusts, going deeper each time, rolling his hips slowly, opening Jensen up. 

 

Jensen’s body was thrumming with need, his muscles singing, and his nerve endings twittering in anticipation as the twin sensations of pleasure and pain bombarded his senses in equal measure.  He wanted Jared deep and hard, so fucking far up inside him that he could taste it.  Jared seemed to sense the nervous energy wracking Jensen’s body and, in true Jared form, worked against it, trying to soothe and ease it away. 

 

He slid one of his big, slick palms up the center of Jensen’s, back stopping and bearing down when it reached the center of his spine, just above the dip of his lower back.  He angled his hips forward slipped inside deeper, holding steady and still.  Jensen gasped and tried to buck back against him but the larger man held him still, pinned to the pool table.

 

“Fuck, Jay, PLEASE.  Just fuck me, God. Deeper, harder, please… need it.”

 

Jared chuckled softly under his breath and slid his dick almost all the way out, sinking back in, smooth and quick, until his hips hit Jensen’s ass with a pleasing slap.  The thrust punched Jensen’s breath out of his lungs.

 

“Yes, yes, yes that, harder, more, fuckin’ _wreck me_ , Jay…”  Jensen’s eyes rolled back in his head and his skin slicked with sweat, desperate and begging like he hadn’t come in a month.   


Jared stayed stock still, breathing hard, like he was just relishing the quivering heat around him as a waterfall of filth flowed from Jensen’s lips. 

  
"Move, Jay pleaseeee, I wanna feel it, God _please_ , tear me open.  Fill me up." He begged, twitching around Jared’s length.  The pressure on his prostate was making his eyes water but he couldn’t come without friction.

 

“Shhhh… hey, remember what I said?  Gotta be a little more patient, babe.” 

 

Jared’s words made Jensen crazy.  Groaning in desperation he arched his back despite Jared’s weight pressing down on his back.  He whimpered and growled, clenching violently around Jared’s dick.  He thrust his hips forward, cock bumping just barely, slick and diamond hard against the edge of the pool table.  He couldn’t get the leverage to move right and it was frustrating, being impaled on the thick swell of Jared’s cock without being able to move.  The concept of patience didn’t even compute.  Jensen had been reduced to a giant, shuddering bundle of need. 

 

“Fuck, I love watching you like this, twitching on my cock.”  Jared rested back on his heels and grabbed Jensen’s hips, yanking him back a few inches, impaling and making him cry out.  Jared growled and started fucking him, hard and deep, just like he begged for.  Each thrust punched the air out of Jensen’s lungs, making his insides clutch and spasm.  Jared leaned forward slightly and grabbed Jensen’s upper arms, pulling his head and chest up, yanking Jensen back to arch against his chest. 

 

Jensen’s upper body collapsed against the swell of Jared’s chest and his head fell back over the curve of his shoulder.  He felt like a puppet, a plaything, nothing more than a tight little pocket pussy for Jared to use, abuse, and fill with his seed.  It was glorious and almost enough to make Jensen come in his shorts. 

 

Jared growled hot and low in his chest.  “They’re gonna be back any minute, Jen.  Zach’s gonna pull up and he’s gonna see you like this, impaled on my dick, screaming like a whore.  You want that, don’t you?  Want them to know that you’re _mine_.”

 

Jared released Jensen’s right arm, letting his hand fall to his waist.  His other arm stretched across Jensen’s shoulders to keep his body pinned against his sweaty chest.  He shoved the front of Jensen’s jogging shorts down, elastic sliding almost painful over the over-sensitive tip of his dick.  It was messy with slick, drips of precome dribbling down his shaft as the pressure of Jared’s dick milked his prostate.  Jared fingers wrapped around Jensen’s cock and stroked him a few times, rough and sloppy-slick. 

 

Jared’s hips pummeled him brutally, almost like Jared was trying to drill through his abdomen.  Jensen arched his back, crying out at the sensation of Jared’s cock pressing into the wall of his stomach, bulging his belly out ever so slightly with each thrust.  Jared’s precome-slicked hand slid up the sandy pale hairs of Jensen’s treasure trail and his palm pressed there, firm and wet against Jensen’s abdomen. 

 

He cupped the spot where the head of his dick pumped against the layers of muscle and skin, pressing down as his hips bucked erratic and rough.  Jensen’s hand covered Jared’s and pressed harder, he wanted it to bruise, wanted to feel his body wrecked on that giant dick, help Jared jack off right through his body like Jensen wasn’t even there.  It was so fucking good Jensen couldn’t even see straight, his body pliant and limp, Jared’s dick the only thing keeping him upright.  His cock was weeping, throbbing, so close to orgasm that touching it would hurt. 

 

One, two, three more punishing thrusts and Jensen came.  It was the most intense thing he had ever experienced, like being in the vacuum of space or under deep water, eardrums popping and mouth gasping for air his lungs couldn’t possibly take in.  His eyes were open but he couldn’t see, there was no light, no dark, just pleasure, everything was on fire with sensation and surging emotion.  His face was wet, tears hot and stinging spilled out of the corners of his eyes and his cock erupted, untouched.  Spurt after spurt of come, arched out over the dark blue felt covering of the pool table.  His intestines seized up and his whole body was wracked with pulse after pulse of release. 

 

Jared was still driving in and out of him like a huge, mindless piston, his hand clawing against his cock through Jensen’s stomach.  His arm tightened against Jensen’s collarbone and he shouted, crying out before biting into his shoulder.

 

Jensen swore he could feel every pulse, every spurt of come Jared unloaded into his guts.  It filled the space inside him, hot and wet, squelching around the still bucking thickness of Jared’s cock.  Jared continued stroking Jensen’s sweaty skin, holding him close as aftershocks pulse through both of their bodies. 

 

“Holy shit, Jen, look at that mess you made.”  Jared chided softly as he reached down to gently tug Jensen’s shorts up over his softening dick, planting kisses down the side of his sweaty face.   “Time to clean up now, baby.  Gotta hurry before the guys get back.” 

 

Jensen almost fell to tears as the heavy, slick weight of Jared’s prick exited his body.  It felt like it might take all of his internal organs with it but he managed to remain standing with his sweat-slick palms gripping the edge of the pool table.

 

“Come on, kitten.  Clean it all up and I’ll clean you up.”  Jared urged him forward gently, coaxing him to bend over the pool table again, this time to lick up his own come.  Jensen, mindlessly dutiful, leaned over and lapped at the first stripe of come, starting with the wooden ledge and extending up at least two feet onto the blue felt. 

 

Jensen licked it up, just like a kitten, tongue working over the fabric again and again to clean it up as best he could. He had to push up onto the balls of his feet to reach it all, marveling at the quantity and trajectory of his orgasm as he licked the evidence away.  Jared stood behind him and watched for a moment, lazily tucking spent cock back into his shorts.  
  
As Jensen finished his chore, Jared knelt down again and slid his tongue deep into his fucked-out hole.  He worked it in and out a few times before sealing his lips around the swollen, pink rim and sucking, giving a low, pleasured moan as his own come gushed out of Jensen’s ass and flooded his mouth.  

 

“Fuck, Jay…”  He groaned into the hard surface of the table, body thrumming with endorphins.  “ _Fuck_.” 

 

Jared seemed content to suck and lick away all traces of himself from Jensen’s increasingly tender pink parts as his sweat soaked into the come and spit damp pool table.  His cheek pressed into the felt as his mind swam through a daydream.  He imagined being spread out on some white sand beach somewhere, waves in his ears and salt on his skin, sprawled out on a plush, sun-warm beach towel, fucked out, tan, and a little tipsy, Jared behind him, giant hands spread out over the globes of his ass, parting them and licking into him.  It was fucking heaven on a platter and Jensen felt like he was meant to stay there forever, trapped in that place between awake and asleep, his lover’s hands on him, tongue sliding into him eagerly. 

 

The sound of Zach’s truck pulling into the driveway yanked Jensen from his faraway thoughts.  Jared pulled back slowly, audibly licking his lips and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.  He tugged Jensen’s shorts up over the curve of his ass as Jensen pushed himself up and surveyed the damage. 

 

“That’s not obvious or anything…” He groaned, seeing the large wet patches as clear indicators of his explosive orgasm.  Jared grabbed his arm and pulled Jensen away from the table to face him.  Over Jared’s shoulder, Jensen saw Zach and Chad walking up the path carrying white fast food bags with Tommy bringing up the rear holding a twelve-pack of Keystone. 

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jared whispered, “just kiss me.”  Jared’s hands slid up the slides of Jensen’s face and he pulled their mouths together.  The lingering, earthy, bitter-sweet taste of his come swept over his tongue as the guys opened the door, a loud entrance with boisterous chatter and the slap of flip flops against the hardwood and tile.  Jensen tried to pull away but Jared just tugged him closer, kiss deepening. 

 

“Hey, Jay!  We got you a burger.”  Chad yelled from kitchen, oblivious or simply indifferent. 

 

Jared pulled away slowly, eyes opening to meet Jensen’s gaze, a thin thread of come-laced spit connecting their mouths. He licked slowly over Jensen’s bottom lip, eyes heavy lidded, before smiling and taking a step back.

 

“So, are you gonna help us load this thing onto the truck, or what?”  Jared asked, slapping his hand against the edge of the pool table.  Jared picked up their abandoned, still mostly cold beers, handing Jensen his.  “Come on, I’ll share my burger with you.” 

 

_______

 

 

Jensen loosened up quickly around Zach, Chad and Tommy once he downed the rest of his beer and put some food in his stomach.  He had never felt anything but accepted by Jared’s friends and was pretty sure they would only lash out if they perceived him as a threat to Jared. 

 

Jensen tried to focus on the goal of his visit now that his libido was sated.  He asked casually about their move, their pasts, but the exuberant bunch kept falling back to talking about their sport.  Their energy built as they waxed poetic about surfing Black Rock, Fiji.  They had been there before and were stoked to return.  Tommy was excited to catch up with a girl he met there during their last visit and Jared was geared up to train, get his mind and body ready for the supposed fifty year storm they hoped to catch down in Brazil that fall. 

 

Before Jensen could dig any deeper, Chad busted out the Keystone and Jared suggested they load up Zach’s truck to make a final trip to his storage unit before having too many brews.  Jensen helped Chad and Jared carry the pool table while the Tommy and Zach hauled the boxes of kitchenware and the sound system from the living room. 

 

The table was heavier than it looked and it took Jensen a minute to recover, breathing deep with his hands on his knees in the driveway. 

 

“You should stay…” Jared offered, running his hand up Jensen’s back. 

 

“Can’t.  First day back tomorrow after my little break.  I’m sure there’s a pile of work waiting for me,” Jensen explained as he caught his breath.  That much was true.  He was also eager to find out what Jim had dug up. It was too dark in the driveway to see more than a flicker of disappointment on Jared’s face but Jensen could feel it there in the strained pause.  He’d offered to let Jensen join them on their trip and Jensen had dodged the question yet again.  The truth was Jensen knew that if he stayed, he wouldn’t be able to leave. 

 

“I’m gonna head out, keep me posted about your timeline, okay?”  Jensen’s wrapped his arms around Jared’s waist and he nestled his face into the crook of his neck.  It was softer and more intimate than Jensen intended and makes his chest feel tight again as he breathed in Jared’s warm, earthy smell. 

 

“I don’t want this to be our last time…”  He whispered against Jared’s neck.  It was the most honest thing he could manage to say.

 

“Yeah, ok.  I’ll call you,” Jared muttered before kissing him softly.  Their hands entwined and lingered together as they separated. 

 

Jensen parked further down the block than necessary and the cool, ocean air did some good in helping him clear his head. He decided to stay in his car for a while after that to see if any more puzzle pieces fell into place. Zach, Tommy, and Chad finished loading up the truck and tied everything down carefully with a set of weathered bungee cables. He tailed them to the storage facility near the airport where they unloaded into a garage-sized unit. He watched Zach fiddle with the combination lock and roll back the door through the binoculars he kept stashed in his glove box. He didn’t see anything suspicious in the contents, just some boxes, lawn furniture, and a rack of surfboards with a space in the middle perfect for the pool table.  

 

He left the storage facility empty-handed as the guys wrapped up unloading. He was frustrated with his lack of progress and his own weakness as he headed back to his apartment to call Jim. The only new information Jensen had was the irrevocable proof that Jensen’s ability to remain objective on things pertaining Jared Padalecki had been severely compromised.  

 

_______

 

It took several laps of nervous pacing around the apartment for Jensen to finally pick up the phone. Jim answered on the fifth ring, sounding as exhausted as Jensen felt. “Well, kid, the good or bad news is that your boy Jared’s clean.”

 

Jensen did his best to hold back the brief wave of relief that washed over him.

 

“– too clean, if you ask me.  His buddies are another story entirely.” 

 

“It took a bit of digging since you didn’t have much but I am pretty sure I’ve got the right guys.  Chad Murray and Thomas Welling are both originally from Upstate New York.  They’ve both got rap sheets, probation violations in their home state. Chad has outstanding warrants.  It’s all stuff that makes them sound good for this, Jen.  B and E, accessory to robbery, grand theft auto, possession of stolen property, possession of illegal firearms.”

 

“Okay, what else?  Anything on Zach?”

 

“He was harder to pin.  I’m pretty sure his full name is Zachary Levi, originally from Louisiana.  If he’s our guy, he’s got ties to the Vagos biker gang.  They’re notorious, man.  Serious organized crime shit.  Drugs, robbery, you name it. Things that make the other guy’s resumes sound mild in comparison. He was only ever brought in for questioning but he’s definitely got Mongol connections, probably did some work for them.  Maybe still does.” 

 

Shit.  SHIT.

 

“What turned up on your end, partner?”  Jim was obviously intrigued by Jensen’s relative quiet. 

 

Jensen clenched his jaw, knowing he dropped the ball.  He had left the storage facility ready to put his suspicions to bed but the history of Jared’s inner circle was all too telling.

 

“They were packing up, said they would be leaving in a few days.  Storage shed was clean, just furniture and stuff.  Let’s case the bank tomorrow.  It’s our only real lead.  I say we call it in.  Get some backup.  But you gotta do it.  Agent Morgan won't listen to me.” 

 

Agent Beaver scoffed.  “Sure. No problem.  I'll just call up and tell him his favorite new agent saw this one surfer moon another surfer and it looked _real_ suspicious.  Shit, he'll probably call out the National Guard!”

 

Jensen shook his head.  Jim was right.  They had a black eye as far as the Bureau was concerned.   

 

“Look, we need to handle this ourselves, for right now, okay?  We cover the bank, whatever.  You and me.  That way if nothing happens, or more accurately, _when_ nothing happens...  I don't get my tits any further into the wringer than they already are.  Oh, and I’m not getting in the car with you until you get approved for duty.  Take care of that first thing, okay?  And try not to piss JD off anymore than you already have, kid.” 

 

Jensen took the tongue-lashing in silence.  It was more than deserved. 


	15. Assured Trust

_“The vessel trembles with your salt and sweetness,_  
 _the universal cavern of waters,_  
 _and nothing is lost from you, as it is_  
 _from the desolate crater, or the bay of a hill,_  
 _those empty heights, signs, scars,_  
 _guarding the wounded air.”_

_from ‘The Wide Ocean’ – by Pablo Neruda_

**  
**

Jensen headed to the office, bright and early wearing his best, freshly dry cleaned, monkey suit.  It was a crisp dark grey paired with a blue pinstripe shirt and a solid red tie.  He looked like he stepped right out of a young Republican’s conference, the model of a perfect agent, with his hair slicked back and his face clean shaven.   He headed straight for Agent Morgan’s office, focused on making absolutely zero waves. 

 

“Here’s my release, Agent Morgan,” Jensen said, nodding politely and giving JD solid, respectful eye contact.

 

Agent Morgan smiled back at Jensen, barely able to conceal his disdain, as he skimmed over the release signed by Dr. McCutcheon.  “Glad to have you back, Agent Ackles.  Now let’s see if you can keep your nose clean and actually make some progress on this goddamned case, shall we?” 

 

“Yes, sir.  I’m eager to get back to work,” Jensen said as he let his eyes fall to the floor in a gesture of submission.  “Is there anything else, sir?”

 

“Jim mentioned you two have a new lead.  He wouldn’t tell me much but let me remind you, Ackles, that I’m this- _fucking_ -close to pulling you and that washed up partner of yours off the Turtles case for good.  Do _not_ fuck it up.  I’ve got both my eyes on you.” 

 

“Understood, sir,” Jensen answered, lips pulled taut as he closed the door behind him. 

 

_______

 

Two hours into the stakeout there had been no movement.  Jensen sat in the passenger seat of Agent Beaver’s baby-shit brown Buick Skylark with the door open, looking through the binoculars obsessively at the entrance of Assured Trust Savings and Loan.  It was a real scorcher in Van Nuys, oppressively hot, and they were too far inland for an ocean breeze to provide much relief. 

 

Jensen abandoned his freshly pressed jacket into a heap on the back seat when they first got in the car and now his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing his ever-deepening tan.  He was sweating profusely through his new shirt and his tie hung loose around his neck as he checked his watch for what seemed like the hundredth time in less than an hour.  Next to the binoculars in Jim’s glove compartment, he had found a faded blue Dodgers cap which he slapped on over his Ray Bans to help disguise his identity in the event Jared or one of his boys showed up again.  Jim mocked him for it, of course, but he couldn’t risk being made.  Not now. 

 

Jim snoozed on and off in the hot sun with the Los Angeles Times sports page tented over his face.  “Is it time for lunch yet?” He grumbled, voice muffled by the newsprint. 

 

“Christ, Jim it’s not even eleven o’clock,” Jensen bit back.  He knew he was overly tense and on edge despite the restful night’s sleep he had.  Taking it out on Jim wasn’t going to get him any closer to solving the case.  He sighed and rested the binoculars on the dashboard.  At least grabbing lunch would give him something to do. 

 

Jim let the paper slip down his face as Jensen got out of the car.  He reached into his back pocket for his wallet and chucked it into the passenger seat.  “That little stand up the street has great meatball sandwiches, kid.  Get me two.”

 

Jensen snatched Jim’s wallet and pulled out a twenty, chucking the cheap piece of naugahyde back at his partner.  At least he was paying.  He trudged down the sidewalk toward the stand around the corner from the bank with the hand painted green and white sign that read “EDDIE’S SUBS.”  Jensen’s stomach rippled, hunger clawing at his abdomen, as he read the menu.  His appetite had been garbage lately and he could use the energy so, despite the early hour, he ordered Jim his two meatball subs, a tuna on wheat for himself, and two lemonades with extra ice.  He slid Jim’s twenty across the counter and told the kid at the counter to keep the change.  He slotted his tuna sandwich between the cups on the drink carrier to keep it away from the melting, tomato-sopped, mess of Jim’s meatball nightmare

 

“Here you go, Partner.  God that smells like fucking road kill.  No wonder you didn’t want backup.  Morgan would have you at the pool doing laps every morning if he saw what you ate out here.”  Jensen grumbled as he shoved the white bag into Jim’s face through the open window.  The bag had already started to glisten with orangey-red grease in one corner but Jim grabbed it with enthusiasm, nestling it on top of the newspaper pages strewn across his lap. 

 

Jensen sat their drinks and his sandwich on the roof, squinting across the sun-baked black-top at the bank entrance one more time before sitting down to eat his sandwich.  The amount of traffic had increased as lunch time approached.  Jim apparently wasn’t the only one who fancied eating before noon.  A non-descript, burgundy Lincoln town car sat idling on the curb in front of the bank.  Probably just another blue hair cashing their social security check like the dozen others Jensen had watched that morning. 

 

“Did you see that Lincoln pull up?” He asked, reaching for the binoculars.

 

The rustle of paper and a long, blissful groan from Jim signified the impending demise of meatball sub number one.  Jensen crinkled his nose as he caught a strong whiff of tomato sauce and pork fat, thankful that he wasn’t in the car with his partner.  “What Lincoln?”  Jim slurred through a mouthful of bread and meat. 

 

That’s when movement at the bank entrance caught Jensen’s eye.  He looked up and a man in a turtle mask burst out of the revolving door.  Jensen was so taken off guard by the sight that he felt momentarily paralyzed, standing agape for about two seconds before his partner’s voice snapped him out of his shock-induced trance.

 

“Jesus Christ!  It’s them!” Jim shouted, spitting chunks of sandwich everywhere.  The other three men in suits and green turtle masks bolted out of the bank and piled into the idling town car. 

 

Jensen bolted into the street without even checking for traffic.  He drew his sidearm automatically, his training kicking in.  “FBI!  FREEEEEZEEE!  Right fucking now!” 

 

Raphael, the turtle in the red mask, spun around and raised his shotgun, aiming directly at Jensen.  Leonardo, the blue masked turtle, shoved Raphael toward the vehicle, knocking the muzzle down with his hand.  Raph looked stunned for a moment but slid into the passenger seat while Leo leapt onto the car’s hood and slid across it, jumping into the driver’s side. 

 

Jensen raised his weapon as he raced across the blacktop.  He fired three shots in rapid succession as traffic skidded to a halt around him.  He pumped two bullets in the trunk and a third shattered the rear window as the car lurched into motion.  Its back wheels spun and squealed, letting off a plume of white smoke as the car skidded across the street and into the intersection.  The Turtles clipped a delivery van as they swerved into traffic at top speed. 

 

“Shit, Ackles! Get in the car!”  Tires screeched as Jim pulled up alongside Jensen and shoved the passenger door open.  Jensen dove in and Jim floored it before he even had the door closed.  Remnants of their forgotten lemonade dripping dripped down the windshield as Jim charged aggressively through the mid-day traffic in pursuit.

 

“Where the hell are they?!” Jensen shouted frantically, tossing the Dodger’s cap onto the floorboard and pushing his sunglasses up onto his head.  He braced his hand on the hot, dusty dashboard as he scanned traffic for the getaway car.  “They took a left on Gilmore, the next light!” He barked when he barely saw the tail end of the car skid around the corner at the next light. 

 

“I got 'em!  I'm on it!” Jim reassured as he expertly navigated across two lanes of lunchtime traffic, weaving around a slow moving semi and several other confused, slow moving drivers.  “Calm down, Ackles.  This ain’t my first rodeo!”  Agent Beaver looked almost excited, eyes wide with a wicked grin on his face as he took the sharp left, slamming on the breaks and skidding into the turn like a stuntman from an action flick. 

 

Jensen held on for dear life, pulling the seat belt across his chest as an afterthought when the car lunged forward down the narrow residential street.  The street was blissfully empty and Jim hit the gas as the Turtles’ tail lights flashed red, preparing to cut another left.  

 

Jensen’s stomach was in his throat, his mind flickering back to the image of the agile, well-built man in the Leonardo mask.  Had he gone out of his way to prevent his partner in crime from filling him with buckshot?  It had all gone down so fast, Jensen couldn’t be sure while his adrenaline was pumping and the chase was still on.  The Buick slid into a speedy left turn down Tyrone Avenue, gaining quickly on the larger, heavier Lincoln. 

 

Jensen braced himself as Jim swerved to narrowly avoid hitting a white Geo Metro that pulled out right in front of them.  Jim was a skilled driver and his reflexes were tight but their rear bumper still managed to snag the front bumper of the tiny Geo, ripping it off along with the grill.  Jim handled the collision effortlessly and the smoking skid-recovery barely slowed them down.

 

Up ahead, the town car weaved maniacally, dodging cars and cyclists at breakneck speed.  They blasted across Oxnard during a lucky but brief lull in traffic.  Jim was close behind and Jensen cringed, shielding his face with his forearm as horns blasted and tires screeched loudly.  Jim was driving like a bat-out-of-hell, keeping a close tail on the Turtles.  The crooks back tracked a few blocks, crossing Van Nuys Boulevard again, trying desperately to lose Jim and avoid the freeway.  The Lincoln made a risky, sliding turn onto a cross-street half a block ahead of them but Jim was ready to stop playing this frustrating game of cat and mouse.  He cut the wheel, racing into a Mercado parking lot, scattering pedestrians, sending carts and groceries flying.

 

“Hang on, Ackles.  I’m done chasing these fucks!”  Jim shouted as he launched the car over the sidewalk.  The Buick clanged and bounced roughly as they hit the street again, skidding sideways, directly into right fender of the Turtles’ escape car. 

 

The two vehicles swerved wildly and Jim cut the wheel again, slamming into the Lincoln demolition derby style.  The impact caused the other car to lose control and jump the curb, sending it careening through a bus stop in front of an Arco gas station.  Glass and metal exploded across their hood as Jim dodged the debris, tires skidding across the oil slick concrete parking lot, and fishtailing into the first set of gas pumps. 

 

The collision brought their car to violent stop, leaving both agents rattled and disoriented but unscathed.  Confused customers scattered across the gas station parking lot or huddled close to their vehicles as the Buick’s engine whined and vibrated to a stop. 

 

Jensen shook his head and breathed deeply to try and get his wavering vision to clear.  He smelled gas as he looked around anxiously for the getaway car.  The sound of people shouting and sirens in the distance became clearer as his vision focused enough for him to finally spot the Lincoln.  Its front end was wrapped around one of the palm trees that lined the street and billowing, black smoke poured from under the car’s hood.  It looked completely un-drivable and he couldn’t tell if the Turtles were still inside or not.  His door was pinned shut against the gas pump and Jim was still shaking off his own daze in the driver’s seat. 

 

Suddenly the rounded, green heads of the still-masked robbers bobbed into view over the hedges that were partially obscuring Jensen’s view of the wreck.  “Fuck, no!  They’re getting away!”  Jensen yelled, desperately clawing at his seatbelt and clambering over his partner.  Jim groaned and yelled as he launched past his partner like a missile, focused on his target. 

 

Jensen tumbled onto the hot blacktop, more disoriented from the crash than he realized.  It was pushing a hundred degrees and waves of heat refracted off the pavement as he squinted in the bright sun, trying to get a bead on his targets.  He shut his eyes and shook his head in disbelief, momentarily convinced he had a concussion, as the four masked men, weapons in hand, leapt across the small hedge _toward_ him. 

 

Time slowed down for a moment when his eyes opened and the Turtles blasted across the pavement in a blur, heading for a white corvette at the next gas pump.  Orange-masked Michelangelo tackled the car’s owner, a young man who stood frozen in shock next to his gas tank.  He was knocked violently into the ground, landing in a growing pool of gasoline that was expanding from the pump Jim’s car had plowed into. 

 

“FREEZE!  FBI!”  Jensen yelled, pulling his pistol and taking aim haphazardly.  He knew he couldn’t risk taking the shot with the gas fumes and fuel spilling everywhere and civilians caught in the crossfire. 

 

“Go, go, go!”  Leonardo shouted as he skidded into the side of car and grabbed the gas nozzle out of the tank.  Raphael and Donatello piled into the back seat and Michelangelo slid in behind the wheel, tossing Leo a small, silver, rectangular object.  Jensen identified it immediately – a fucking Zippo lighter. 

 

Leonardo raised the gas nozzle like a gun, holding the Zippo below and slightly in front of it.  Jensen lunged forward, grabbing the car’s owner and pulling him back, away from the fuel spill that was about to become a blazing inferno.  Jim staggered away from his wrecked sedan just as the masked man flicked the lighter and pulled the trigger on the nozzle.

 

Like an impromptu flame thrower, the nozzle spewed a twenty foot jet of fire.  He soaked the pavement with the flaming gasoline, creating a wall of fire between Jensen and their new getaway car.  He turned, aiming the jet of flame over the wrecked bus stop, hedges, and palm trees where the wrecked Lincoln sat, still smoking and sputtering.  The flames spread quickly over the entire area, engulfing the vehicle and foliage in a blaze of red and orange, ensuring any physical evidence in the car was incinerated.

 

“Let's go! Move it, man!”  Michelangelo yelled as he revved the Vette’s engine.  Leonardo's eyes sparkled behind his blue mask as he painted the scene with one last jet of fire.

 

Jensen slid his gun into the back of his pants, throwing caution to the wind and dashing toward the intersecting walls of fire.  Some of the gas had burned away and he was able to find a brief gap in the flames to dive through.  His timing couldn’t have been more perfect and only a few scant flames licked against his bare forearms, barely singeing the hairs. 

 

Leonardo ditched his impromptu flame thrower and sprinted toward the white corvette that idled with the passenger door hanging open.  With a flying lunge, Jensen catapulted into the other man, taking him down in a harsh, desperate tackle.  They rolled together, skidding across the hot, oily concrete as fire swirled around the pump island, up the sides of Jim’s sedan.  

 

Out of the black smoke, Agent Beaver followed Jensen’s lead and charged like an angry bull with his snub-nosed revolver held high.  The Corvette’s tires squealed and smoked as it leapt across the concrete, launching into traffic out of the gas station parking lot.  Beaver unloaded his weapon into the vehicle’s side, peppering it with bullet holes and blowing out the rear driver’s side window.

 

Jensen was shocked at how strong and large the other man was as they grappled on the pavement.  The whole robbery had been a blur but now as their bodies clashed, Jensen was sucked back into the reality of who might actually be behind the cartoonish rubber mask.  The thought was fleeting as Jensen felt the lick of flame against his hair and skin, realizing in a blast of pain that the hem of his pants had caught fire.  He scrambled to his knees, releasing his hold on Leonardo in self-preservation.  He slapped and kicked wildly at the fire, putting it out just in time for the other man to land a kick in the middle of his chest.  Jensen folded in half as all of the air was knocked out of his lungs.  He dropped to the cement and gasped for air in the haze of noxious smoke, coughing and sputtering, as Leo kicked him again in the side and took off running.

 

Jensen rolled, trying to ensure the flames were out, clawing himself up off the ground as sips of air finally made it into his burning lungs.  Despite the injuries, he came up running, surging with adrenaline and pulling his Beretta again.  He saw his target running, shucking his black suit jacket, green rubber head disappearing into an alley behind the gas station.  Too late to make a shot, Jensen palmed his weapon and dug deep, running as fast as he could in pursuit. 

 

The gas station was only a few blocks from the freeway and commercial buildings with high, barbed-wire trimmed fences lined the left side of the alley.  To the right side was all suburban residential neighborhood.  Leo’s escape options were limited.  They both ran full tilt as Leonardo did his best put distance between them. 

 

In the background a huge explosion rocked the neighborhood, pavement vibrating beneath their feet.  Jensen looked back to see a fireball dissipating in the sky, leaving huge column of black smoke billowing up into the bright-blue California sky.  The gas station had gone up, sirens and shouting faded behind them as the chase took them deeper into Van Nuys. 

 

Without warning, Leo hung a hard right and blasted through a wooden gate into someone’s backyard. Jensen whipped through the damaged fence a second later, diving into suburbia. Their speed slowed as the chase became an obstacle course of lawn furniture, swing sets, trash cans, and swimming pools. Leonardo was merciless, barreling through fences like a meteor, crashing through hedges, and bounding like a gazelle down narrow gaps between the houses. 

 

They wove across the neighborhood with Jensen never more than a few seconds behind his target.  They blasted into the front yard of a stucco house onto a busy street where high school kids were returning to school from lunch.  Leo dodged a group of kids on bikes that were speeding down the sidewalk, trying to make it back before the bell.  He bolted across the school parking lot, banking over car hoods and skidding out into the opposing street, narrowly missing a garbage truck, before scrambling up a porch and blasting through an open screen door.

 

It was clear he wasn’t going to stop for anything.  Jensen followed him, slamming the screen door off its hinges.  A woman inside screamed, but he didn’t even look, couldn’t risk her slowing him down.  Another backyard, another fence, another barking dog, another screaming housewife – it was all static in Jensen’s ears as he glared at the back of the round, green rubber head, trying to will him to fuck up, make a bad call. 

 

The tall man barreled through an open sliding glass door, pausing for a moment to shut and latch it.  It was a risky move, one that made Jensen lose his precious momentum.  Frantic, Jensen chucked a potted plant through the glass, shattering it into a wall of pebble-sized diamonds that spilled into the house and across the concrete patio.  He lunged through the opening, toppling the kitchen table, ignoring the angry old man shouting obscenities at him from the safety of his couch.  He exploded out of the front door into a sunny front yard with sprinklers on full blast.  Jensen slipped in the wet grass, struggling to regain his footing to follow Leo through another row of dense shrubbery and onto a bike path that butted up to a concrete canal. 

 

The drainage ditch had steep inclines and Leo was already halfway down, sliding on his Chuck Taylors, hand balancing him on the concrete as he tilted back at a crazy, reckless angle.  Jensen barely paused, skidding down the slope after the man, his wet dress shoes accelerating his descent.  At the bottom was a retaining wall, dropping off at least eight feet into several inches of filthy mud and water.  Leo took the jump without pause, landing on his feet, only stumbling for a moment before running headlong through the sludge. 

 

Jensen could see his foe slowing but if he stopped and drew his weapon again he might not be able to make the shot.  He took another chance and dropped down the wall, just like Leonardo had, hoping to close the gap once they were on flat ground again.  Jensen’s legs were like noodles, hot, loose, and burning from the insane run, unable to support him correctly when he landed.  He tipped forward, and landed feet, knees, and then hands into the wet, gravelly pavement, blinding white pain surging up into his limbs. 

 

He heard his knee before he felt it go, it was a sickening pop, different than that day during the Rosebowl so long ago, but no less terrifying.  The explosion of pain that followed was brutal and intense.  It made him see Technicolor sparks and obscured his vision completely as his brain tried to process the sensation.  He collapsed onto his side in the muck, hands gripping his tortured knee. 

 

“Not now, not FUCKING now!”  He screamed, voice hoarse and lungs burning.  He still had enough presence of mind to tilt his head back, squinting in the glare of the mid-day sun to see Leonardo slowing, looking back at him for a beat before continuing his escape.  The canal wall sloped down where it passed under the freeway and a chain link fence ten feet high ran along the edge, aimed at keeping animals and teenagers out of the dangerous canal. 

 

Jensen struggled to his feet, trying to continue his pursuit.  He tipped forward again, biting back a howl of pain, and catching himself on his already scraped up palms.  He tried to run, hobbling forward, as Leo reached the fence.  Jensen could see the other man heaving for breath, bent over with his hands on his knees.  Jensen pulled his weapon but it was too fucking far.  He put all his weight on his good leg and did his best to scuttle forward, dragging his throbbing, ruined leg behind him, only using it for balance.  He had to get closer, he had to make the shot or it would all have been for nothing.

 

The Turtle’s ringleader began scaling the fence but he was going slower than Jensen expected. He was clearly fatigued and struggling too. He paused at the top, swinging his leg over and craning his masked face back toward Jensen. For a moment their eyes met, both panting and exhausted, locked in the moment. Jensen’s weapon was drawn and trained on Leonardo’s green basketball of a head.  

 

“You want me?  There's only one way.”  Leo shouted, his ragged voice carrying down the sloping concrete, over the din of the freeway.  The voice was too powerful and familiar for Jensen to ignore.  His finger was on the trigger, tightening, but sweat poured down his forehead into his eyes, making them sting with the same burn that filled his lungs, the same burn that was engulfing his heart. 

 

God, he wanted it so badly, to take the fucker down, but he could see Leonardo’s eyes through the mask’s eye holes and they flickered blue and gold, burning with passion and fire.  Jensen sunk to his knees, head tipped down between his shoulders with his chin resting on his chest and both hands tightly gripping his Baretta.  It was too much.  He couldn’t fucking do it.  He snapped his hands up and fired into the bright blue summer sky.  One shot, another. 

 

BLAM!  BLAM!

 

He howled with rage, frustration, and pain.  The sound gutting him, flooding his eyes with the hot sting of tears and sweat, blinking them away to watch helplessly as Leonardo slipped over the top of the fence. 

 

Jensen slumped back in defeat, shoulders slamming down onto the wet concrete. He held his arms up straight, pointed into the sky as he stared up into that sickening blue expanse, the white streak of a jet trail the only thing marring its brilliant beauty.  He squeezed the trigger again, firing rapidly, emptying the entire into the SoCal sky.    

 

_________

 

Hours later Jensen sat, hunched over in his chair next to the dispatcher, like the wife of a sailor waiting for news of her husband’s ship, lost at sea. 

 

His body ached from head to toe and his knee throbbed like a bass drum, in tune with the migraine he was nursing.  His injured leg was propped up on a chair with his pants split up to the thigh and an ace bandage was wrapped around his knee with a large, soggy bag of frozen peas draped over it, dripping softly in a rhythmic PLIP-PLIP-PLIP onto the floor.  His face was blotchy-red and tear-streaked, covered with a nasty patchwork of scratches and bruises that he refused to have treated.  

 

He felt empty and distant, like his emotions had been yanked out by the roots and his hollowed out insides had been given an acid bath.  He hadn’t been this completely lost since his knee injury happened, lying in traction in the hospital waiting for his parents to arrive at his bedside, not able to look into the dark abysses of their eyes.  He drained his cold cup of coffee and gazed out at the empty bullpen. 

 

Jim came through the doors a moment later, wiping the remains of dinner off his mouth.  “Nothing?”  He asked, softly.

 

 “Nada,” Jensen said, unable to meet his partner’s gaze.  The dispatcher glanced up at Jim and shook his head in corroboration.  Jared’s house had been emptied, as Jensen expected.  The APB’s out on Jared, Zach, Tommy, Chad and their vehicles had yielded nothing, not even a hopeful blip from local PD.  Their vehicles were probably in storage along with the stuff Jensen had personally helped them move. 

 

“You look like shit,” Jim said, realizing quickly that he was stating the obvious.  “Get the hell outta here.  Get some sleep.  They get anything that even resembles your guy – you’ll be the first to know.”

 

Jensen sighed, resigned.  He would rather dissolve into a pile of sand and be swept into a trash can at this point.  He knew Jim was right though.  There was no point in staying at HQ; it was like watching concrete dry. 

 

“Yeah, okay.  I’m going to go home, try to get in touch with Danni.  See if Jared or any of his guys have reached out to her.”  He managed a completely fake, weary smile in Jim’s direction as he lifted his body out of the chair and turned to go.

 

“Jensen…”

 

Jensen stopped, looking back at his partner wearily. 

 

Jim’s brow was knit in sadness and frustration.  “Before you go, I just wanna know one thing.”  He paused, taking a deep breath.  “Why didn't you just take the damn shot?”

 

Jensen’s head tipped down, shoulders slouched, and unable to meet Jim’s gaze.  “I don't know, Jim.” 

 

Of course he fucking knew.  He knew he was still aching inside with that slow, blissful burn from where Jared fucked him last night.  His heart throbbed for him and he wished to God things were different. 

 

“I’ll call you if Danni knows anything," Jensen said, his final peace offering.  He hobbled out of the office, shuffling like a zombie to the car.

 

_________

 

Danni answered her door wearing a pink polka-dotted bathrobe despite the late hour.  She saw Jensen’s injuries and the hollow, damaged look in his eyes and fluttered around him like a mother hen, immediately pulling him into her apartment.  He let her drag him inside, strip him down to his undershirt and skivvies, and sit him on the toilet in her tiny bathroom so she could dab Betadyne over his wounds.

 

“Ouch!”  He hissed as she ran the cold, wet cotton ball over his split eyebrow.

 

“Don’t be such a pussy, Ackles.  Betadyne doesn't hurt.”  She chided, warmly.  She smiled but her eyes were wet at the corners, worried close to tears over her poor, broken friend.  She laughed softly, filling the pregnant pause between them and kept tending his wounds. 

  
She had every right to ask a million questions.  He can still smell the gunpowder on his clothes underneath the sweat and gasoline and is pretty sure she could too, even if she didn’t know what it was.  She knew something major went down and he had been evasive at best lately over his strange disappearances and sudden distance.  Danni was a smart chick and there was no way she believed all of this was on the up-and-up but she humored him, none the less.

 

“So what'd the other guy look like?”  She asked as she was washing the Betadyne off her hands.

 

“Never saw him.  It was your basic hit and run.  Didn’t even get his plates.”  He couldn’t muster a better, more thought out lie, he just let the vague, bullshit story sit in the cool quiet for a few moments, marinating until he could push the conversation past it. 

 

“Thanks again for letting me come over, Danni.  I really appreciate it.”  He was sincere almost to the point of tears.

 

“Quit trying to change the subject.  I don’t understand how you look like you’ve been in a train wreck but the other guy just drove away.  What was he driving, a fucking tank?”  She asked as she knelt down to pick up the bloody cotton and band-aid wrappers, chucking them into the trashcan.  “Why didn’t you just call Jared?  I mean, seems like you guys are getting pretty serious…”  Her voice trailed off but the hurt buried there was tinny, close to the surface. 

 

It stung Jensen like the antiseptic.  He had grown to genuinely care about Danni and the lies on top of whatever she thought their relationship had been turning out to be wasn’t fair.  He searched for words that won’t form, meeting her eyes and feeling helpless, stuck in the quicksand of his own deception. 

 

“What is it with you?  You have this look in your eyes like you're about to tell me something and then you don't... or you can't.  What's really going on, Jensen?”

 

He searched her deep brown eyes, marveling at her beauty, her depth.  He felt like absolute garbage but he knew that nothing he said could fix the lies.  He wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to, even after it was all over.  The deception ran too deep.

 

“What? What is it that you want to tell me?” 

 

Jensen’s brow unfurled and he slowly cupped his hand over hers.  It was intimate, their faces were close, he realized immediately that it was probably sending the wrong message but he just wanted to hold her and stroke her face and tell her he was sorry for fucking with her life but the words wouldn’t come, instead the emotion just came spilling out of his eyes.  She looked at him hard, face twisting with confusion.

 

“What are you doing?”  She asked, almost angry.  Her hands twitched under his like she wanted to pull away but couldn’t.

 

 “It’s just –” He almost told her he was sorry but he couldn’t tell her what for, instead he just told her the honest, genuine truth that lay balled up at the center of his lies and deceit.  “I'm glad you pulled me out of the water that day, Danni.  You’re the only friend I have here… shit, you’re the only friend I have anywhere and I value that more than you’ll ever know.”  He closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to the smooth curve of her forehead.  Her body was tense and as soon as his lips made contact she exhaled a breath he didn’t even realize she was holding.  There was a sob in her throat but she choked it back, anger and bile surging to the surface instead. 

 

“Christ, you’re starting to sound just like him you know that?  All this profound _bullshit_.  You fucking remind me of him at his house the other day, talking about Rio, about the big wave.  You fucking faggots and your goddamned death wish, you can just leave me the fuck out of it, okay?!”  She stood up and put her hands on either side of the sink, emotion still thrumming through her body. 

 

He couldn’t be angry at her outburst, he deserved it and worse.  After a few moments of quiet he finally asked what he came here to ask.  “Danni, do you know where he is?  The house is cleaned out and he hasn’t called me… things got… really fucked up…”  He begged her in the end.  Saying things were fucked up was a pretty big understatement but how else do to tell someone you had to chase your boyfriend across the suburbs with a gun in your hand after he robbed a bank?

 

She breathed deep and crossed her arms over her chest.  Her face softened some before she looked down at him, pity in her eyes.  “Shit… they’re gone already, huh?  Sorry, Jen – I don’t know.  I mean they… they’re just kinda gypsies… you know?  I tried to fucking warn you…”  There were tears in her eyes as she turned away from him to leave the tiny, powder blue bathroom.  . 

 

He reached for her but didn’t think the contact would help.  She was too fragile for it and he didn’t want to hurt her any worse than he already had.  “Yeah, it’s ok, Danni.  I’m sorry, for everything.  I just don’t like leaving unfinished business.”   

 

She looked at him with pain in her eyes, distant and longing like the sea.  “You can stay here tonight if you want.  I’ll put fresh sheets on the pullout.”  She left the room not waiting for his answer.

 

________

 

He fell asleep amazingly fast despite the uncomfortable, warped frame of Danni’s rickety pull-out couch.  While he dozed off quickly, he tossed and turned all night, stomach sour and bubbling, pain throbbing in his joints, and his knee on constant fire despite the Vicodin Danni gave him.

 

He woke up easily when he heard Danni’s bedroom door opening and saw a slash of light fall across the foot of his couch-bed.  He didn't stir, his body felt like lead, he just let his eyelids flutter and turned his head away from the light.  There was a moment of total silence, not even the creak of floorboards or sound of the bathroom door until...

 

 _BLAM_!

 

The pillow beside him exploded into a blizzard of goose down.  Jensen reared up, eyes wide and mouth agape.  Danni stood above him, recovering from the kick of his smoking 9mm Baretta in her hand.  Shit, he knew he should have left it in the car but he took the risk in case Jared…

 

“A _lawyer_!?  You fucking lied to me you son of a bitch!”  She screamed.

 

“Look, Danni, I can explain—“

 

 _BLAM_!

 

She squeezed off another round, way more comfortable with a gun than she had any right to be.  Feathers cascaded through the air, falling like snow around him.  Jensen rolled off the bed away from Danni onto the floor on the other side of the couch bed. 

   
“Jesus Christ, you've been using me!  You left your pants on the fucking bathroom floor and this goddamn thing's hanging half out of the pocket...”  She chucked his FBI badge onto the center of the bed.  “FUCK, this is all part of some case, isn't it?  You lied to me and used me and it’s for a _case_ …  How could I have been so blind?”  She was shouting and sobbing, voice more strained than Jensen had ever heard it.

 

“Danni, put the gun down.”  He crouched behind the bed frame, holding his hand out.  He was alarmed that Danni still had the gun pointed at the bed. 

 

Her face was twisted in pain and betrayal, tears streaming down.  “First you tell me the fucking truth, Ackles... did your parents really die in a car crash?  DID THEY?!”

 

“No, Danni.  No.  I’m so sorry.  They’re alive.  They live in Dallas.  I haven’t seen them since I graduated from the FBI Academy in May.”

 

Danni lowered the pistol slowly, strength leaving her, as sobs wracked her body. 

                                

“I work bank robbery.  The guys I'm after are surfers.  I needed you.  I’m so fucking sorry.  I didn’t mean to drag you in this deep –”  

 

“FUCK YOU.  Fuck you, Jensen Ackles.  Don't you have a soul?  Goddamn you to hell!”  She dropped the gun onto the floor and it skidded under the bed.  Her hands covered her face and she cried loudly, body curling around itself as she slumped down over the side of the bed. 

 

Jensen got up and moved slowly toward her, wanting nothing more than to comfort his friend.  She recoiled at his touch, scrambling backwards across the carpet before getting up and running into the bathroom, chucking his pants and shirt into the hallway before slamming and locking the door.

 

He followed her, pressing his head against the door, breathing long and slow.  “I understand if you can’t forgive me, Danni,” he said low and calm, closing his eyes, willing her to feel the truth of his words.  “But, I’m sorry, more than you’ll ever know, and I meant everything I’ve ever said about how I feel about you.” 

 

Her silence spoke volumes.  The betrayal ran too deep.

 

“You’ll always be in my heart and I was lucky to have you as a friend.  I didn’t deserve you.  My door is always open to you, D, and I hope our paths cross again.  You helped me find myself, as fucked up as that sounds.  I’m sorry and I hope this isn’t goodbye.” Jensen’s throat burned, stopping before the swell of tears he felt building behind his eyes stripped away what was left of his sanity.

 

He waited there, forehead against the door, hand rubbing over his throbbing knee joint, but she didn’t reply.  There was no movement, not even the sound of tears to reassure him she was okay.  After about ten minutes, he reluctantly decided to leave the poor girl in peace.  He reached under the bed for his gun and slid his badge into his pocket before he went home.  He just wanted to sleep, praying to wake up in another life where he could have everything – his friend, his lover, and do his job.


	16. Gravity

BUUUUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!!

 

The long, abrasive rasp of the doorbell yanked Jensen into consciousness.  It was still mostly dark, very early morning, and apparently the only time his doorbell got any use.  The haze of sleep faded quickly and Jensen remembered dragging himself home from Danni’s.  He’d fallen asleep on the couch with the phone perched on his chest and his neck at a bad angle against the armrest.  Before the buzzer could go off again he dragged his aching, sleep deprived ass off the couch and limped over to the door.  He unlatched and flung it open hastily, like he was worried she would scamper off before he got to speak his mind.  He didn’t even stop to look up before launching into his apology, “I’m so, so sorry, Danni, I –”

 

As soon as the words left his lips he could tell the person standing on his stoop was too large to be Danni.  He stopped mid sentence, eyes flickering up over the form filling his doorway.  No, definitely not Danni.  It was Jared, leaning casually against the doorframe and smiling like a hyena. 

 

“Hey, babe,” he said, eyes devouring Jensen despite his scratched up face, blood-shot eyes, and severe bed-head. 

 

For a moment Jensen felt like nothing had changed, like the events of the day prior were just part of a really fucked up fever-dream brought on by intense stress and lack of sleep.  His shoulders tensed nonetheless and he forced a smile, distantly aware that his sidearm was tucked safely away in the desk drawer.  It was probably a blessing that he’d stashed it out of habit or his instincts might have had it cocked and pointed at Jared’s forehead despite how badly it would have hurt him to do so. 

 

“Hey, uh, yeah – I thought you guys already left…” Jensen finally managed to choke out, scrubbing his hands over his face in an attempt to wake the rest of the way up.  His nerves were shot and he couldn’t stop from stammering, unable to hide the tremble in his voice.

 

“You thought I’d leave without a proper goodbye?” Jared said smoothly as he stepped over the threshold.  Jensen held his ground on the foyer and Jared’s stride left them standing only inches apart.  He could feel that Jared’s body was pulled taut, just like his, stuck in the tense vibration of the moment, not an impasse but definite uncertainty.    

 

“I’m not sure what I know any more…” Jensen said, his voice raspy and foreign in his throat as his eyes flickered up to meet Jared’s in the dark.  Jared’s gorgeous cat eyes looked infinite and deep in the dim light, like twinkling, limpid pools begging Jensen to dive in.  There was no sense of what Jared was thinking within them and Jensen felt his flimsy grip on control wavering.  He paused for a moment, transfixed in the heat that radiated off Jared, like a lizard basking in the sun.  He was drawn in by the smell of Jared’s breath fresh with peppermint, his skin, all clean sweat and fresh ocean air.  Jensen longed to reach out and embrace him, the chemistry between them stripping down his guard. 

 

Jared broke the gaze and glided past him, into the living room.  “C'mon, get dressed.  We're rollin'.” He tugged on Jensen’s arm, urging him into the apartment with an edgy but cheerful energy, like he could hardly contain his exuberance.  

 

Jensen shook his head.  Jared’s very clear insistence that things hadn’t changed at all between them brought him back to reality a bit.  “What’s going on?  I don't wanna surf right now, man,” Jensen said flatly, pushing Jared’s hand away. 

 

“Naw, not surfin’.  Not today.  This is different.  Something totally new for us... You're gonna love it.  I promise.”  Jared said, still eager and smiling despite Jensen’s very clear resistance.

 

“Don’t you think we need to talk?” Jensen pressed as he closed and locked the door.  The gigantic elephant in the room was sucking out all the oxygen, making it hard to breathe.  

 

“Don’t really feel like talkin’, Jen.  Besides, the guys are waiting outside…”  Jared turned to face him again, eyes piercing and full of lust.  It felt like they were peeling back Jensen’s flesh, stripping him down to nothing but adrenaline and pheromones.  “We should hurry,” Jared urged, breathy as he stepped back into Jensen’s personal bubble, crowding him against the door.

 

Jensen folded his arms across his chest and looked down, focusing on the insipid beige tile under Jared’s feet and the violet-red pain clawing at the inside of his heart.  “Jared, no – I need answers, I –”

 

Jared’s mouth surged against Jensen’s, stopping the thought forcibly with his tongue.  It was rough and scorching, the way they would have kissed if Jensen had tackled Jared in one of those plush, green backyards.  Jared’s hands grasped desperately at his body, raking over his torso, gripping his ass, and yanking his hips forward. 

 

Jensen gasped into the kiss, a strangled, needy sound.  It was the sound of his body betraying his mind and his heart trumping every instinct that told him to resist.  Jared’s hands fell against his biceps and pushed his arms out of their closed position, pressing them back and pinning his elbows against the door.  His mouth continued its bruising attack, sucking and biting at Jensen’s swollen, stubble burned lips.  He kissed down over his chin, teeth dragging across his neck, ravenous mouth stopping just shy of marking up his bared neck.  His nails dragged over Jensen’s ribcage and he plucked his nipples roughly through his thin t-shirt – pushing, taunting, hurting – like he wanted Jensen to tell him to stop.  


He couldn’t.  Jensen struggled to find the will but it was just too feral, too wild and too fucking good.  His heart thumped in his chest like he was running a marathon and his cock was rock hard where it rutted against Jared’s hip.  Despite his rational mind shouting “NO!” he whimpered like a whore with every touch.  All he wanted was Jared buried deep, filling the seemingly limitless void inside him, quieting the ache of reality for a moment longer.  He told himself that even if he could only have this once more it would be enough. 

 

Jensen was brought out of his tangled thoughts by Jared’s hands roughly gripping his hips, pulling and turning him around.  He realized Jared had managed to get them both mostly stripped down and Jensen’s pants and boxers shoved were down around his ankles.  He stumbled forward as Jared manhandled him, holding himself against the door with his forehead pressed beneath the peephole.  Jared tugged at Jensen’s waist and kissed down his spine as he sunk to his knees, long-fingered hands spreading Jensen’s ass cheeks apart and diving in tongue first. 

 

The hot, slick bliss of Jared’s tongue sinking into him punched the breath out of Jensen’s lungs.  His still-swollen hole clutched at Jared’s tongue like a drowning man in need of breath, his velvety-honey tongue like a sweet salve on the tender, abused skin.  His back arched and his fingers clawed at the doorframe for purchase, terrified his knees would give out as pleasure radiated out into his limbs. 

 

Jared groaned into the most intimate kiss, vibrating Jensen’s raw nerve endings and making his cock weep only to be smudged against the door as Jared held his hips and ate his ass like it was his last meal.  His eyes rolled back into his head and he shoved shamelessly against Jared’s face, lost in the smooth, sweet suction of Jared’s tender lips and swirling tongue as his orgasm approached.  He was so close to losing it when Jared’s mouth pulled away that his body tried to follow.  Jared’s hand firm on his hip pinned him in position. 

 

Jared stood and spit loudly into his hand, cleared his throat and spit again, slicking his palm.  Jensen could hear the wet, sticky sound of Jared smearing his big, veiny cock with saliva like it was happening two inches from his ear and he gasped quietly in anticipation. 

 

The thick, blunt tip of Jared’s cock felt like a baseball bat against his hole but Jared thumbed the head inside with urgency, growling against Jensen’s shoulder.  There wasn’t enough moisture but he pushed forward anyway.  The white-hot, searing pain of his entry took Jensen’s breath away as Jared cleaved his way inside.  Just like Jared’s kisses, just like their entire relationship had been, it was intense – too rough, too fast, and too much all at once.  Jared’s dick felt a mile long as it sunk in deep, not stopping until Jensen swore he could feel it in the pit of his stomach, crying out as bile burned the back of his throat.

 

Jared grunted and thrust forward to seat himself fully, stilling and breathing hot and hard over the back of Jensen’s neck.  Jensen could feel Jared throbbing deep in his guts, his body pulsing in time around the intrusion like they shared the same heartbeat.  It pounded in his ears, his head, and his joints alongside the lasting pain of weeks of running his body ragged.  

 

“Jesus Christ, you fit me like a fucking glove, you know that?”  Jared groaned into the side of Jensen’s neck as his hips twitched. Jensen’s hole clutched desperately around his cock like it was worried he was going to pull out. 

 

“God damn, so fucking hungry for my dick, baby.  Don’t worry, ‘m gonna give that ass what it needs.”  He braced himself, one hand on Jensen’s shoulder and the other on his hip and began rolling his pelvis, only pulling out a tiny bit at first, increasing a little more with each thrust.  Jensen’s body blossomed for him, muscles parting, taking Jared so sweet, perfect, and deep until he was fucking into him wet and fast. 

 

Jensen was consumed by the sensation, breathless and clinging to the door frame.  He felt like a raw nerve, like he was just an extension of Jared’s cock or a cheap porn store pocket pussy for Jared to fuck, like Jared’s dick was the only thing keeping his body upright.  His wails and moans egged Jared on. 

 

“Fuck, you like that, hmm?  Don’t even have to touch you, do I?  Gonna blow your load all over the door and clean it up for me…”  Jared’s words were like fire and Jensen’s prostate throbbed under the curve of Jared’s dick.  He whimpered wordless nonsense, mouth hanging open and eyes squeezed shut.  He knew Jared was right.  He was going to come like a moaning, sobbing whore on Jared’s fat cock.  Then he was going to fall to his knees and lick up the mess he made like he was getting paid for it.  Like he belonged to Jared and nothing else mattered. 

 

“Yeah, I feel it, Jen.  Come on.  Fuck!  I can feel that tight little butt seizing up for me.  I’m gonna fuck you through it.  Fuck you loose and sloppy.  Come on, come for me,” Jared chanted, his own climax sounded like strained gravel underneath his words.

 

Jensen’s back arched and his hips bucked back erratically into Jared’s thrusts.  His thigh muscles contracted almost painfully as he came.  Jared gripped him even tighter and fucked into him brutally, each slam of his hips making Jensen see stars.  His balls emptied in huge, soul-wringing spurts and his entire groin, hole to slit, felt like they had been scorched with lava as each pulse of come pumped across the smooth, white surface of the door and splashed back onto his thighs. 

 

He whimpered and quivered as his body was wracked with aftershocks.  Jared stilled inside him and rubbed the side of his face against the sweaty curve of Jensen’s shoulder.  After a few moments, Jared steadied Jensen’s hip with his hand again and pulled out slowly.  “Shit babe, so tight.  Been givin’ that hole a little more than it can handle lately, huh?”  Jared’s voice was soothing as he stroked Jensen’s flank.  “Come on, push a little.  You gotta let me out.” 

 

Jensen breathed deep and tried to relax so Jared could slide out comfortably.  Jared’s dick was still huge and hard, twitching and throbbing as it exited, it bobbed wet and heavy between Jensen’s spread thighs.

 

“Now, do like I said and lick it all up like a good boy,” Jared said as he took a step back, “you’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t…  It’ll be a bitch to clean up after it dries.”  

 

Jensen dropped obediently to the floor.  He pressed his cheek against the cool, painted surface, catching his breath just above a splatter of his come.  He extended his tongue and began to lap it up.  He could hear Jared behind him jacking his dick as he licked over the smooth, painted surface again and again.

 

“Do a good job and there’s more where that came from…” Jared promised.  Jensen could hear the smile in his voice.  He cringed at how much he needed to swallow Jared’s load again, how badly his taste buds watered for it.  He licked quickly, making easy work of his own come, gulping it down dutifully before turning to face Jared.

 

He stepped between Jensen’s knees and brought his cock up to his lips.  Jensen opened, mouth still wet with his own load, and let him slide inside.  The bitter, pungent taste of his ass flooded his mouth with saliva as he willed his throat open.  Jared’s cockhead slid home against his tonsils, nudging deeper and making tears well up in the corners of his eyes.  He fluttered his damp lashes and looked up at Jared’s silhouette, raking his hands down Jared’s thighs as he fought the urge to choke. 

 

Jared ran his thumb across Jensen’s cheekbone.  “Fuck, I was gonna paint my load all over your pretty face but your throat feels so fuckin’ good...”  Jared’s groan caused his words to pinch off at the end.  He fisted the base of his cock like he was trying to stave off his orgasm for just a minute longer.

 

Jensen’s throat clutched around the large intrusion as he did his best to calm his breathing, inhaling and exhaling with rattled breaths through his nostrils as Jared began to thrust deeper. 

 

“God, Jen – I’m gonna fuckin’ lose it, can’t even think around you, what you fuckin’ do to me…”  Jared gasped and held the back of Jensen’s neck, shoving in and out a few times, rough and lacking rhythm, before he spilled hot and copious down the back of Jensen’s throat.  He was buried so deep that Jensen didn’t even taste the first few spurts of jizz that emptied directly into his esophagus.  Jared pulled out some, letting the tip of his cock rest on Jen’s tongue as his remaining load surged into Jensen’s mouth.  Jensen swallowed it down, loving the heat in his belly and Jared’s big hand curling around the back of his skull. 

 

“Fuccccck…”  Jared groaned as he pulled back, his softening dick slipping wet and huge out of Jensen’s mouth. 

 

Jared was looking right at Jensen when he opened his eyes, lashes blinking open, wet with tears from nearly gagging on Jared’s girth.  Jared smiled and licked his lips, running his thumb over the swell of Jensen’s bottom lip, slicking it in the remnants of come and spit.  He sucked the thumb between his pliant pink lips before tucking himself back into his track pants.  He helped Jensen stand and pulled him gently toward the bedroom.

 

“Come on, get dressed.  I meant it.  The guys are waiting.”  Jensen took a quick piss before slipping on a pair of jeans and fresh socks.  His shoes were in the living room where Jared paced with nervous energy.

 

Jensen sat on the couch and tied his sneakers, eying the desk drawer that held his piece.  There was no point in making a play for his weapon now.  He had to see this through, whatever that meant.  The mere thought of trying to apprehend Jared in his tiny excuse for an apartment after being fucked within an inch of his life and obediently drinking two loads of come made his stomach knot.  Instead, he finished putting on his shoes and stood up, knees a bit shaky, ass throbbing with that warm, comforting burn he had grown so accustomed to. 

 

Jared snagged Jensen’s keys off the desk and handed him the grey track jacket that had been draped over the back of his office chair.  He curled an arm around Jensen’s shoulders in a brief side-hug and guided him toward the door, opening it and urging him out onto the landing.

 

It was still completely dark and the early morning air was cold and damp.  Jensen shrugged on the thin jacket as he eyed Zach’s truck which was parked across the street.  It sat idling in a dim pool of streetlight, sporting a set of Arizona plates.  Tommy and Chad were in the back, huddled together with hoodies pulled around their tanned faces.  Their features were hard and shadowed, making them look more like angry junkyard dogs than surfers.  

 

Jared locked the door and handed Jensen his keys.  “Come on, you’re going to love this.  I promise.”  Jared ran his hand down Jensen’s back and patted him lightly on the ass before ushering him across the street. 


	17. Free Fallin'

Zach’s pickup raced along the bumpy desert road kicking up a funnel of dust in its wake.  They were several hours outside of Los Angeles proper and the desert skyline was etched inky black against the purple-silver of the lightening sky.  The tapedeck blasted some tinny, garage band grunge that Jensen didn’t recognize and his joints ached from the vibration of the truck under his body.  His skin was damp with a cold sweat underneath the thin, grey polyester of his jacket and his skin pebbled with goose bumps despite the heat of Jared’s body pressed up against his in the truck’s small cab.  He was wedged between Jared and Zach with Jared’s arm draped casually across his shoulders.  He could still smell Jared’s sweat and taste his come lingering bitter at the back of his throat.  The acid in his stomach licked up his esophagus and his temples pounded as he tried to calm his nerves. 

 

It was Jared who finally broke the silence.  “Life's sure got a sick sense of humor, don't you think?” Jared asked as his fingertips absently grazed Jensen’s shoulder.

 

 “How you figure?” Jensen replied, humoring him.  It had been so long since anyone had spoken that his own voice sounded foreign to his sleep deprived mind. 

 

“Just some crazy shit I saw on the news last night.  Those guys, the ones in the Turtle masks, they robbed my bank yesterday.  Craziest fucking thing.  I was just there the day before, making a withdrawal.”  He reached out with his left hand and grabbed a beat up checkbook off the dashboard, flipping it into Jensen’s lap.  “See... look. Assured Trust... same place.” 

 

Jensen opened the cover and looked.  Sure enough.  Jared Padalecki.  The address was a PO Box in Malibu.  Assured Trust Savings and Loan. 

 

“I was picking up some cash since we're leaving town and all.  Bizarre though, huh?  If I'd waited a day I'd have been right in the middle of it.” 

 

Jensen looked out at the road ahead of them, casting his eyes up to the crest of the mountains and the ever lightening sky.  He could feel Jared’s eyes on the side of his face.  He kept his own on the sky as he licked his lips and handed the checkbook back.

 

“Well, I’ll give them this,” Jensen replied, “It takes guts to rob a bank.  All that adrenalin pumping, waving loaded guns, taking out the guards, getting everybody on the floor, never knowing who's gonna burst in, wondering what it's like to take a bullet….”  Jensen breathed deep and let his eyes flutter shut for a moment before he turned to meet Jared’s gaze.  “Must be some ride,” he said, eyes searching Jared’s, “I wonder if it’s worth it in the end.” 

 

They held each other’s stare, neither willing to back down.  Jared’s pupils were large in the low light, desperate somehow but unreadable all the same.  Jensen forced a smile, confident in his ability to fake it.  He had mastered the art of looking like an underwear model on the outside while he was in agony on the inside before the age of ten.  It was like a prerequisite in the Ackles’ family.  True to form, his intestines squirmed and his heart beat thrummed arrhythmic against his ribcage but on the outside he wore a calm grin.

 

“You almost make it sound like a good time!”  Jared smiled back, wide and sincere, challenging Jensen’s bluff.  “Don’t let your bosses back at the law firm hear you talkin’ like that.”  His eyes darkened for a moment before he finally pulled away, letting them flicker out over the road.  “Banks are insured, man.  As long as nobody gets shot, it's really a victimless crime.  Just gotta scare folks a little and they’re handing over the cash.  That would be my guess anyway.” 

 

He painted his grin back on before looking at Jensen again, bringing their faces only inches apart.  “Now if I was gonna rob a bank, what with the guards wearin' body armor these days, I’d make sure I could protect myself.”  Jared leaned forward, reaching his hand underneath the seat behind Jensen’s leg.  He pulled out a huge holstered handgun and rested it against his thigh so it spilled over onto Jensen’s.  His hand splayed over its surface, stroking it almost lovingly through the light tan leather of the holster, his thumb releasing the snap holding it in place. 

 

“This is a Freedom Arms Model 83 in a .454 Casull.  Most powerful handgun on the planet.  It has a muzzle velocity of two thousand feet per second.  That’s twice the kinetic energy of a .44 Magnum.” 

 

The gun was heavy against Jensen’s leg; a cold contrast to Jared’s radiating warmth.  He had fired a similar caliber weapon back at the academy and it nearly popped his shoulder out of socket.  The thing was a beast, definitely not a weapon to be taken lightly.

 

“One shot stopping power.”  The words left Jensen’s lips before he even thought to censor himself.  It was just a game anyway, just perversely circling the truth, so what did it matter?  He swallowed hard and looked down at Jared’s hand where it rested over the weapon, its size almost making the gun look average. 

 

Jared laughed, nodding and smiling wide, like Jensen just passed some sort of test.  “That’s right, Jen. 'One shot stopping power'... good, very good.  Here, hold it.  Check out the weight, the feel of it in your hand.  Powerful.” 

 

Jared pulled his left arm from where it was still curled around Jensen and drew the gun out of the holster, his fingers curling around the grip with practiced ease.  He twirled the huge gun in his long fingers, grabbed the barrel, and extended the handle to Jensen.

 

He still couldn’t read Jared’s jubilant expression but he tried anyway, scanning his face, searching for answers as he slowly took the gun in his hand.  Jared’s hand cradled the side of the weapon and slid over Jensen’s wrist, fingers curling across the back of his hand.  “Feels good in your hand, right?”  Jared asked as he tugged the muzzle forward, pulling it flush against his sternum. 

 

His eyes burned with some distant, intangible heat that wasn’t anger or lust.  He smiled, slicking his lips with a sweep of his vibrant pink tongue.  “Whoa. Careful, Jensen. You’ve got it pointed right at me.”  He inhaled and pushed his chest forward some, still holding Jensen’s hand and the weapon in place, faces close, breathing one another’s air. 

 

Jensen knew that if slipped his finger over the trigger and released a round into Jared’s chest it would blow a hole the size of a tennis ball straight through him.  Jensen swallowed thickly again, the clammy sweat on his skin prickling at his temples as he did his best to keep his face void of expression and his nerves in check.  Jared grinned again but it was forced, more strained and grim than before.  He let go of Jensen’s hand and casually pushed the barrel away, looking forward again at the road in front of them.

 

Jensen felt a surge of anger rise in his chest.  What the fuck was this game?  They both knew that they had gone off the rails in a major way.  There was no coming back from this.  Jensen gritted his jaw and let the weapon sink into his hand properly, thumb reaching up to cock back the hammer.  The loud, metallic sound in the quiet of the cab made Zach turn his head for a moment and Jensen saw Jared’s eyes flick up to meet his friend’s, a momentary flash of concern buried quickly but there nonetheless. 

 

Jared smiled and laughed boisterously, overcompensating for the slipup.  “God, I like you, Jensen.  I like you because you'll sacrifice anything to win.  I respect that.  It elevates you above the drones out there that have learned to always compromise.”  He sounded like himself again, if only for a moment and it felt like a knife twisting in Jensen’s guts. 

 

Jensen’s wrist twitched, trembling a little from the tension and the weight of the weapon.  He was snared in Jared’s power trip but at least he knew that Jared wasn’t underestimating him.  They remain locked, circling the tension, waiting for something to give. 

 

After a few moments in a vacuum of silence Jared’s hand loosened around the muzzle.  His lips parted and his gem-like eyes bored into Jensen’s as he thumbed over the entrance of the barrel, his head tipping ever slightly forward like he was about to lean in for a kiss.  Jensen clenched his jaw as he released the grip, letting Jared take the .454 back.  Jared uncocked the gun with casual ease, not even looking at the clearly loaded, ready to fire weapon.  He put it back in its holster and slipped it back under his seat. 

 

“It's a special day, Jensen,” Jared said, his voice light and positive despite the very thick cloud of danger that hung in the air.  “A very special day...” Jensen’s gaze followed Jared’s beyond the windshield again where tentacles of brand new morning light veined the sky.  He saw small white buildings in the distance, popping up like jagged teeth against the red clay earth.  As they drew closer, he also saw the movement of vehicles.  It was an airstrip.

 

Jensen realized in an instant what Jared had in mind, his thoughts flashing back to the wall of photos in Jared’s room.  Zach pulled onto the tarmac of the small airfield not twenty feet away from a Cessna twin with its engine already roaring.  The pilot smiled and giving them a friendly wave from inside the tiny cockpit.  He gave the airport a once over, trying to come up with an out.  The place looked privately owned and run down, aging quickly in the hot, dry California desert.  It was remote, probably only used by thrill seekers and drug runners making their way up from Mexico.  The only structures were a couple of aluminum hangers with faded beige paintjobs and a small portable building with a bright blue port-a-potty standing next to it. 

 

Chad and Tommy leapt out of the truck bed as soon as Zach put the truck in park.  Jensen peered over his shoulder out of the truck’s rear windshield as they pulled out parachute packs, helmets, and what looked like a duffle bag packed tight with bright blue and red nylon jumpsuits.  Jared’s hand slid over Jensen’s thigh as if to hold him in place as Zach shut off the engine and climbed out to help the others with their gear. 

 

Jensen steeled his resolve as Jared’s long fingers slid up the inner seam of his jeans, smooth and delicate up his sensitive inner thigh.  He stopped just shy of Jensen’s crotch and squeezed gently.  Jared’s forehead tipped against Jensen’s temple and he breathed softly against his cheek for a moment, quiet and calm in the increasing light of the day. 

 

“I can’t wait to share this with you, babe,” Jared whispered before gently kissing him there, lips smearing the trickle of sweat Jensen felt dripping from his hairline.  Jared opened the door and hopped out of the cab of the truck, grabbing his gun from under the seat, and flashing Jensen a reassuring smile, like it was any other day.  Jensen followed and shut the door quietly, wondering distantly what the breaking point would be.  His knee was tight from sitting in the cramped truck and he rubbed it tenderly, wishing he’d insisted on grabbing some Tylenol before Jared forced him out the door. 

 

Tommy tossed a chute-pack to Jared who turned around and chucked it over to Jensen.  “Ever done this before, Jen?”  Jared asked, winking.  He knew damn well Jensen hadn’t. 

 

“Nah…  Heights aren’t really my thing,” Jensen said as he clutched the parachute close to his chest, still hoping a way out would present itself.  It was not looking good.  The plane was ready, the guys were geared up, and they were hours away from civilization.  The only way back appeared to be up and then a very, very long way back down again.  Jensen steeled himself and tried to keep his strained smile looking natural.  He was pretty confident it wasn’t working.

 

“Well this is your lucky day then!”  Chad slapped him on the shoulder and handed him one of the blue jumpsuits and a pair of neon yellow, wrap around goggles.

 

“Pure adrenalin, right fellas?!  The ultimate rush,” Jared chimed in, voice booming to make it over the sound of the plane’s noisy engine.  “Other guys snort for it, jab a vein for it, but all you gotta do is jump.”    

 

“Sure, yeah.  I bet it's a blast, but listen, Jay – I sorta screwed up my knee yesterday…”  Jensen reached down and rubbed his hand over it again, frustrated at how stiff and tender it still felt. 

 

“Yeah, I noticed you limping,” Jared grinned, taking one of the other chutes from Zach, “but don't worry about it, man.  Don't worry at all.  We're not gonna land on land!”  He grabbed Jensen’s sleeve and ushered him up the narrow stairs onto the plane.  He was much more insistent than he had been that morning as he somewhat gently urged him into Zach’s truck. 

 

“Oh, well, that's fine then. I feel so much better,” Jensen muttered, rolling his eyes.  He knew Jared probably couldn’t hear him over the engines and he was along for the ride as much as he’d ever been even if it wasn’t completely of his own free will this time around.  None of the guys were behaving differently but Jensen wondered if it was just because they were all more skilled actors than he had been led to believe.  His stomach fluttered as he took a seat in the claustrophobic interior of the plane.  The others piled into the other seats cheerfully and Jared squeezed in beside him. 

 

They buckled in for takeoff which went about as smooth as one could expect on the narrow, dusty runway.  Jensen did his best to enjoy the beauty of the California desert as they gained altitude but he was having trouble holding it together.  He was grateful that Jared ignored him for the most part, talking technical stuff about wind direction, temperature, and conditions on the ground with the guys. 

 

“Alright, boys.  We’re at twelve thousand feet!” The pilot chirped over his shoulder, giving them a ‘thumbs up.’   Tommy whooped and high fived Chad as they began to unbuckle and move to the rear of the plane that had been fitted especially for skydiving with a small landing and a roll-up door.  Jensen pivoted in his seat and watched as the others started slipping into their jumpsuits, stashing their keys and wallets into envelope sized waterproof pouches at their sides.  Jared slid his huge, holstered pistol into the back of his pants, smiling at Jensen again before yanking the top of his jumpsuit up and zipping it.  Jensen followed reluctantly and suited up as well.  

 

Zach unlatched and slid open the jump hatch causing the pressure to change violently inside the small cabin, sucking Jensen’s breath from his lungs.  He braced himself against the back row of seats and gazed in awe at the spectacular view, the roar of wind and engines in his ears instead of waves.  The other men were sparkling with energy, faces split with wide with excited smiles – their energy was contagious.  Nobody had their chutes on yet and the door being open made Jensen decidedly nervous about that fact.  He stepped up the aisle and grabbed his from the seat, shaking it softly to try and judge its weight and contents. 

 

Jared slid into the seat behind him and shouted over the howling wind.  “This is a little ceremony we have at the end of every summer, Jen.  One last speedstar.”  He eyed Jensen, clearly grabbing onto the concerns painted in his expression.  “We’ve lost count of how often we’ve done this, man.  You’ve got nothing to worry about.  Promise.” 

 

Jensen grimaced, eyes on the chute pack.  He wasn’t so sure and Jared’s promises meant very little at this point.  “So... uh, who packed my chute, Jay?”

 

“I did.  What's the matter?  Don't trust me?”  Jared’s booming voice filled the cabin, all subtlety lost with the need to shout over the din of air rushing past the open hatch.

 

“You gotta earn trust,” Jensen shouted back, squinting at Jared from under his yellow goggles. 

 

Jared grabbed his own chute from the floor and stood up, pushing it into Jensen’s hands.  “Okay, then we'll earn it together.”  He took Jensen’s pack out of his lap as Jensen shook his head and looked down at Jared’s chute uncertainly.  Was this just another part of the game?  Another test?  Had Jared anticipated this step all along?

 

Chad shouted at Jensen over the rear row of seats.  “Hey... you don't want Jared’s, man.  His pack-jobs suck... they only open half the time.  Take Tommy’s.”  Chad’s grin was evil as he grabbed Tommy’s chute out of his hands and switched it with the one Jensen had been holding.  

 

“Whoa, unfair, dude!”  Said Tommy as he grabbed Chad’s chute and traded it hurriedly with Jensen’s.  Great, nothing like an early morning game of chute roulette to prep for your first skydive.   

 

Fuck it.  If Jared wanted to kill him, he’d had multiple chances since the chase yesterday.  Trust was just an illusion anyway, their whole fucked up situation proved that a million times over.  He pulled the pack in his hands on over his shoulders and snapped the clasp that criss-crossed his chest to avoid any more nonsense.  

 

“Are we gonna jump or jerk off?”  Jensen yelled, sick of the bullshit, his eyes trained on Jared. 

 

“That’s my man!”  Jared shouted loudly, clapping his hand on Jensen’s back.  “We’re at altitude, let’s fuckin’ do this!  Helmets on, boys.” 

 

The guys strapped into their chutes as Zach fiddled with each of the helmets and handed them out.  Each was equipped with a mic and headset so they could talk to one another and coordinate their formation during freefall.  The radio hissed and clicked in Jensen’s ear as they strapped in and ran through a quick test before jumping. 

 

“You copy, Jen?” Jared said with a wink.

 

“Ten-four.”  Jensen answered, giving Jared a mock salute.  Chad jumped first, his red suit zipping into the orange and pink tinted sky, out of Jensen’s sight all too quickly.  His heart thumped in his chest like a tiny, frightened animal trying to escape as the thought of doing the same thing sought to overwhelm his nerves. 

 

Tommy was next and then Zach, each shouting and whooping as they dove into the open sky with their arms and legs splayed wide.  The bright blue and red fabric whipped like birds wings in a brief moment of suspended weightlessness until they vanished too, out into the hazy, cold sky. 

 

“Your turn, baby.”  Jared said into the mic, oblivious to the fact the others could hear him on the open channel. 

 

Jensen braced himself with his hands on either side of the doorway, looking down at the red-beige blur of land. 

 

“Come on, I’ll be right behind you.  Trust me.”  Jared’s words and his palm on Jensen’s back didn’t comfort or calm him.  Still, Jensen knew he had to do this.  If he was going to grow the spine he needed to take Jared down like his job required, like justice demanded, he had to.  He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and stepped forward, into the open air. 

 

His first ridiculous, delirious thought was that it was nothing like when Coyote did it in the Roadrunner cartoons.  The intense vacuum of wind sucked Jensen’s body sideways in a terrifying, disorienting rush that made the sour, bitter contents of his stomach flood his pallet and sinuses.  His arms and legs flailed helplessly at his sides as he tumbled.  With no idea how to correct his dizzying spin, he slammed his eyes shut and mumbled a silent prayer for it to be over quickly to some God he’d never really believed in.

 

“Don’t panic, Jensen.  It’s just like surfing.  Breathe, let your body feel the air current.  Fan out your arms and legs and try to stabilize.”  Jared’s voice in his ears is was gorgeous, soothing comfort to his panicking mind.  He breathed deeply again and tried to let his muscles unwind, letting Jared sculpt him with his words.

 

The rush of wind in his ears suddenly changed and Jared grabbed his forearm, causing Jensen’s eyes to snap open.  The glow of Jared’s red suit glinted off his stubbled chin and Jensen focused on his bright white smile, the same one that looked out at him from that photo in Jared’s basement, before things got so fucking complicated.  At the end of the day Jared was hooked on adrenaline and Jensen had to believe all the borderline psychotic bullshit from before was on hold while they were together in the sky, irrelevant until they hit the ground together safely.

 

“Hey, hey.  You with me, Jen?”  Jared asked, voice laced with concern over Jensen’s clear state of shock.  Jensen nodded and tried to find his calm, feel his body suspended by the air rushing around it, concede he was at the mercy of gravity and the elements as they hurtled toward the earth and find the Zen in that.  It had taken him months to do with the sea but he had no choice now, there were fleeting few moments before the ground would be under his feet again. 

 

A smile finally cracked across Jensen’s stoic face as he let the sensation take him, soaking in the beauty of the open sky and seemingly limitless expanse of landscape racing up to meet them.  It was amazing, like nothing he had ever experienced.  The adrenaline crackled through his weightless body as he finally accepted the rush.  “Whoooaaah!  Shhiiittt!  Whoooaaah!”  He shouted, screaming into the microphone. 

 

“I'll take that as a yes,” Jared laughed, grinning at Jensen’s exuberant change of attitude, nodding before he released Jensen’s arm. 

 

One by one the other men glided in from out of nowhere, slotting into place around them as all five jumpers finally stabilized.   Falling face down, knees bent, they each angled their hands and feet minutely to move laterally in tandem with one another.  Jensen had less control and flailed a bit as the air currents whipped through the nylon of his suit, pushing him slightly askew.  He managed to hold his own, keeping his eyes trained on Jared as much as he could, copying his slight movements to help guide himself into position.   

 

Chad’s was to his left and suddenly pitched into a wild spin, rotating like a dervish in a head down dive, shouting and whooping into the headset.  He flared his arms and legs out when he was a few hundred feet below them to let the air carry his body back in line with the others.

 

“Fuckin’ show-off!”  Tommy shouted into the mic before twisting his body and turning over onto his back.  He tilted his limbs up so he was falling butt first like he was perched on a big inner tube at the swimming pool. 

 

Not to be outdone, Zach folded his legs into a lotus pose and tipped forward, spinning again and again before letting his arms and legs furl out like a blossoming flower to stop the motion. 

 

Jared watched his friends with a huge smile on his face, staying close to Jensen as they hung above the world.  It was surreal, almost like they weren’t moving at all, as if they floated on a separate plane of existence instead of rocketing through the air at over a hundred miles per hour. 

 

After a few more seconds Jared looked at the altimeter strapped to his wrist.  “Alright kids, we’re at ten thousand feet.  Let's do it!” He said into the mic as he kicked his legs, pushing himself through the air towards Jensen, almost like he was swimming through calm, clear waters.  The others fell out of their trick poses and stabilized again before doing the same, moving closer together.

 

Jared and Chad linked arms as Jared reached out for Jensen who had not attempted to move, instead just letting the others fall into formation around him.  “Come on Jensen. Get in here!” Jared called as he reached for his hand.  Jensen paddled awkwardly into position to let Jared grab his arm.  Grinning up at them, Tommy flopped over onto his stomach and glided closer, grabbing Chad’s arm and yanking the group sideways.  Finally Zach surged toward them and grabbed Jensen’s elbow before linking his arm through Tommy’s. 

 

As they closed the loop it immediately felt like they were going faster somehow, spinning through the sky.  Jensen could see the landscape below them zooming into focus, it was almost too much. 

 

“Relax, Jen.  I got you, I got you.”  Jared said softly into the mic.  He squeezed Jensen’s forearm, thumbing over it and giving a reassuring squeeze through the nylon in a small gesture of comfort. 

 

“Righteous-ass speedstar, dudes!”  Tommy howled, eliciting a cheer from the rest of the men.  After a few more moments in the stable formation Jensen’s fear started to dissipate.  He forced his mind to stop struggling to with the physics of their feat, pushing away everything but the happy, fluttering euphoria flowing through his veins, letting himself enjoy the moment and ignoring the rock-solid ground below that was ready to crush them like an insect on the windshield of a car. 

 

“You diggin' this or what, man?!”  Jared whooped, smiling brightly, boosting Jesnen’s enthusiasm. 

 

“Fuck yeah, man!  Fuckin’ great!  It’s GREAT!”  Jensen shouted before descending into a giddy riot of laughter.  It was more exhilarating than he could have imagined, screaming through the pristine blue sky at one hundred and thirty miles per hour.  It made it easy to forget that he was plummeting closer and closer to reality and the hard, unforgiving earth with every second that passed.

 

“Alright, folks.  See ya downtown!”  Chad hollered as he released Jared’s arm.  Jensen watched as they the others let go too, one by one, and the star disintegrated as they begin drifting apart.  Jared stayed linked with Jensen and reached out to grab Jensen’s flailing right arm.  He pulled them together so they were falling face to face, holding hands.  

 

To their right, Jensen heard a loud woosh-snap, turning his head to see that Tommy had pulled his ripcord.  He was jerked upward violently, as if he were being sucked up into the sky.  Jensen’s eyes stay glued to him and the brightly colored disc of fabric haloing him as it shrinks smaller by the second.  Zach pulled next and then Chad, each shooting upward, eventually disappearing from his range of vision.  

 

Jensen looked back into Jared’s face and was suddenly all too aware of the earth rushing up at them.  The reality of the situation and their fucked up game of chicken crashed to the forefront of his mind, causing his anger and frustration to flare anew, the grim reality of what lie in store for them both burned through him. 

 

Jared’s stare was unwavering and it wasn’t the first time that Jensen felt his mind was being read.  “You gonna pull?”  Jared asked, his smirk taking on the dark, dangerous quality it had on the road to the airstrip. 

 

“After you, Jay.  I insist!”  Jensen’s anger egged him on, giving Jared’s taunt right back. 

 

Jared looked over at the device on his wrist that showed their ever decreasing altitude.  “Twelve seconds to Valhalla, babe.  Don't screw around, pull it!” He demanded, jaw clenching.

 

“You first, Jay!”  Jensen cocked his head and grinned, ignoring the fact that his stomach was shoved up into the back of his throat.

 

“Okay!  I’ll pull!”  Jared smiled contritely and released Jensen’s hand.  Instead of crossing his chest to pull the ripcord at his side, Jared reached out and pulled the one on Jensen’s chute in a fluid motion.  Jensen was too slow to react.  The rush of fabric sounded like a wave crashing over his head as the canopy deployed, jerking his body upright brutally in the harness.

 

Jensen looked down at Jared’s dimpled grin and waving hand, shrinking quickly, red fabric of his suit vibrant against the deep blue of the lake zooming into focus below them.  Jared seemed impossibly close to the earth when his own parachute suddenly burst out in an explosion of black and neon yellow.  The shimmering mirror of a large reservoir fanned out below them, an oasis against the drab green scrub brush and dusty, arid plains surrounding it.  Five seconds later the bright yellow canopy of Jared’s chute met the water’s reflection and went slack, with an explosion of white water to mark the impact.

 

Jensen was only a few more seconds behind, the last thousand feet of the fall evaporating like smoke, a completely different experience from the way time seemed to stand still up above.  A glorious wall of spray erupted up around Jensen’s feet, shooting skyward and drenching him completely as he hit the water.  Despite his parachute slowing the impact considerably, his knee buckled with pain, bright red and white flashed across the back of his eyelids as his body entered the water. 

 

His eyes opened in the fresh water, the vibrant blue around him bizarrely still and so different than the ocean.  His soaked chute clung to him as he bobbed up to the surface for breath, pushing past the pain to swim free of the huge swatch of thin fabric.    

 

He was winded from the impact, sputtering and coughing as he clumsily released the clasps on the chute’s heavy harness.  It floated like a jellyfish around him as he gasped for breath, feeling the backwash of adrenaline course through his veins.  “Jesus Christ.  I gotta be out of my goddamned mind!”  He yelled into the sky.  The words were bitter but his soul was nothing but exhilarated.  He unzipped the clinging nylon fabric of the jumpsuit and pulled his arms free, fanning out to float on his back and look up at the azure expanse of sky.  The honey yellow sun warmed his face and the gentle movement of the water muffled the sound of the other men splashing down around him. 

 

The adrenaline crash was rapid and left Jensen feeling suddenly fragile.  The sense that something awful had happened was creeping in around the edge of his consciousness.  It was that distant feeling that he had missed something big, like somewhere in the world there was a nuclear attack, a military coup, a landslide.  The sensation remained intense as he swam to shore, watching the others already on the gravely inland beach of the lake high fiving, embracing, and pulling off their soaked through clothes. 

 

The sandy clay beneath his palms felt like a long lost friend once Jensen finally pulled himself up onto the gently sloping beach.  His good leg felt like jelly and his injured one was definitely inflamed but he still had decent range of motion which was surprising after the extreme abuse it had taken over the past few days.  He laughed, body riddled with nervous energy as exhilaration gave way to a strange melancholy that he wasn’t ready to face. 

 

The sight of Jared’s beautiful, dripping wet face, still beaming with elation and satisfaction, hit Jensen in the gut like a sucker punch.  He was bent over, hands on his knees, like he was still trying to catch his breath so he didn’t have to look at him, so he didn’t have to feel that caustic, frustrating pain burning up inside him for a moment.  He wanted to live forever in that space between the sky and land, the sea and the beach, between the first sweet press of Jared’s lips and the sated gasp of their mutual release where who they really were didn’t matter.

 

“See, I told you,” Jared said, a smile in his voice as his now bare feet crunched in wet the gravel at Jensen’s side.  Jensen tipped his head up, hands still on his knees, squinting to see Jared silhouetted against the mountains and sun in the distance that created a stunning backdrop behind him.  Jared had stripped down to his black cotton boxer briefs and beads of water still clung to his tan skin.  He shook out his hair, waiting for Jensen to recover, brown tendrils slinging droplets everywhere, his muscles rippling in the golden morning light as it slowly dried his skin.  “It was magical today.  So glad you got to share this with us.” 

 

Jensen finally stood and Jared closed the distance between them, wrapping his arm around his shoulders.  The other men approached, all equally soaked and stoked as Jared.  Zach and the others clapped him on the back and congratulated him, telling him he did a great job on his first time out.  It was another standout moment of acceptance into Jared’s tribe and another punch in the gut that he didn’t need.

 

“C'mere, Jen.  There's something else you need to see,” Jared said, pulling him away from the others.

 

For the first time Jensen noticed that there were several vehicles pulled up in the dirt near the edge of the body of water.  He had no fucking clue where they were but it seemed just as remote as the airstrip even though they were definitely further west, closer to the mountains.  Jared’s truck was there, parked next to a white utility van. 

 

Jared led him to the rear of the unmarked van and opened its doors, hunkering down and stepping inside.  The interior of the van was empty except for some empty black canvas duffel bags, probably used to hold their skydiving gear, and a small portable VCR and monitor, built together in one tiny unit.  It was much like the monitors they used in the bullpen to review surveillance footage. 

 

Jensen was confused but followed Jared into the van anyway, crouching beside him on the floor.

 

“What’s this?” 

 

“It’s just an insurance policy, that’s all.”  Jared looked at him and sighed before pushing play.  His face was drawn up in a way Jensen had rarely seen, like he was doing something he really didn’t want to.  “Now, this is going to sting a bit, but it's for your own growth.  I’m really, really sorry it had to come to this…” 

 

Jensen’s nerves trembled at the sound of real, legitimate concern that filled Jared’s voice.  Before he could address it, the screen flickered and sound started up.  Just raspy, distorted voices and static at first, and then muffled, angry sounds from someone’s throat, someone with their mouth covered.  The video was poorly lit and the picture was in black and white when it finally came into focus.  The handheld camera that shot the tape panned slowly up a pair of bare, women’s legs.  The intent was clearly clinical, not sensual.  Her ankles were duct taped together and her arms were bound behind her on what appeared to be a metal folding chair.  The hem of a huge, baggy white t-shirt trailed across her mid-thigh, keeping her decent and disguising her shape.  Tendrils of mid-tone hair fell across the shirt’s wide, cut-out neck.

 

“Danni…?”  Jensen asked, terrified, as if she could hear him.  Her name on his tongue sent a shiver up his spine as his eyes went wide with shock.  He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, what Jared was showing him.  His eyes remained glued to the screen as panic and fear swelled in his chest.

 

Her face came into view, finally confirming her identity.  Her mouth was taped shut and a grizzled, dark haired biker had her long hair balled up in his fist, holding her neck back so the camera could get a good, long shot of her tear stained face.  His other hand held an opened switchblade to her throat.  Her eyes were wide and wild, full of blind, pure, rage.  She tugged against the bonds that held her despite the bite of the blade at her throat, growl-screaming underneath the wide stripe of duct tape sealing her mouth.

 

“She's a wild one, isn't she...?  _Special Agent Ackles_.”  Jared’s voice was dark, almost spiteful.  It, combined with the image of his friend being held hostage, made something inside Jensen snap.  He lunged at Jared, taking the larger man by surprise, pinning him to the wall of the van with his forearm crushing against his throat. 

 

“You're a FUCKING dead man!” Jensen shouted into Jared’s face, completely enraged, venom surging up his spine.  He throttled Jared as hard as he could, banging his head against the steel side of the van.  A sharp, pained shout escaped Jared’s throat and he tensed his muscles but didn’t try to buck Jensen off with his full strength.  He just gasped for breath and grasped at Jensen’s biceps, a silent plea for restraint. 

 

After a few tense moments Jensen recognized Jared’s submission and he backed down, if only a little.  Keeping a firm hand on Jared’s shoulder, he slid his forearm down over Jared’s chest, keeping the pressure of his full weight on his sternum instead of crushing his Adam’s apple.  Jared gasped and sucked in a huge gulp of air, his face was red and tears blinked out of the corners of his eyes.

 

“Talk.”  Jensen growled, only centimeters from Jared’s face.  His heart was pounding and the adrenaline that left his body when he floated in the water, looking at the sky, was exploding through him again, ready to tear Jared apart for bringing Danni into this game. 

 

“She'll be fine, Jensen, I promise,” Jared wheezed, swallowing thickly.  “Calm down, for her sake.”  His eyes looked sorrowful as he caught his breath.  When he spoke again his voice was hoarse.  “The guy holding her is one of Zach’s buddies from the Vagos.  We go way back.  I swear to you, Jen, he won't do anything as long as we meet up with him at a certain place and time, about six hours from now.”

 

“No, Jared.  You’ve gone too fucking far.”  Jensen’s voice sounded strangled, too desperate.  He sobbed as he spit out the words.  “You call him... right fucking now... and tell him to let her go.” 

 

“I can't do that, Jen.  I’m sorry,” Jared’s hands fell softly on Jensen’s shoulders, a soft, almost soothing gesture.  “Even if I could trust that you wouldn’t bolt, he's on the road with her now.  Where they're going there's no phones.  The only way to stop him is to meet up at our rendezvous point, as planned.  To do that, I need you with me, not against me…”  Jared’s words trailed off at the end as he gently pushed Jensen away.   

 

Jensen was fuming, tears stung his eyes and a sob welled up in the back of his throat.  He knew he was caught.  Danni’s life was in danger and it was all his fault.  He glared at Jared, nostrils flaring as his mind raced, there had to be something he could do.  He shook his head in blind, impotent rage as tears streaked down his cheeks.

 

“Fuck, Jensen.  I _fucking_ hate this.  I hate putting her through this, I hate putting you through this.  I hate violence.  This isn’t who I am.”  Jared sounded sincere, voice tight with more than just the bruise of Jensen’s forearm.  He looked like he wanted to reach out and embrace Jensen but the mere thought made Jensen’s stomach turn.  Jared was either a really fucking great actor or he was being genuine.  Jensen wasn’t sure which was worse as his eyes flooded with more hot, angry tears. 

 

“That’s why we needed Zach’s connections on this one.  Never used them before, not for something as disgusting as this.  I could never – _I would never_ – do something like this if I didn’t have to.”  The desperation was clear in Jared’s voice as he tried to make eye contact again.  “No way I could hold a knife to Danni’s throat, man!  She is amazing and I want her on this earth.  Hell, she was my woman, once.  But the Vagos are kind of a... mechanism.  Means to an end.  Once you set them in motion, they won't stop.  Noon comes and we aren’t there to meet them, straight up, they’ll gut her like a pig and try not to get any on their shoes.”

 

Jensen couldn’t breathe and it was like the walls of the van were closing in.  He bolted out the back and threw up in the ruddy dirt.  The bile burned his throat and his vision started to sway.  Jared followed him out of the van, rubbing his hand over the center of Jensen’s back, trying to soothe him.  Jensen recoiled from his touch, looking up at Jared in disgust as he wiped vomit and spit from his lips and chin. 

 

“Hey, hey don’t be like that.  I know this is fucked up, believe me, I fucking _know_ but what other choice did I have?  I thought we really had a connection and then I find out it’s all fucking _lies_?  Danni found out too, didn’t she?  She was just as disgusted, am I right?”  Jensen turned away from him, he couldn’t bear look at Jared for one more minute or he would punch him or worse.  He put his hands on the back of his head and started pacing in the sand.

 

“I fucking need you, man.  Can’t you fucking see?  What you do to me, I…”  Jared’s voice trembled.  He stepped closer, trying to reach out.  “After yesterday I knew, you can’t make the decision on your own.  You’re torn and while I can appreciate that, _I really fucking can_ , I just don’t have the luxury of letting you come around on your own time.”

 

Jared gripped Jensen’s bicep, perhaps a last ditch effort to reach in and pull him out of his rage.  Jensen reared up, preparing to swing at Jared’s face with his other fist, only to have Jared’s hand wrap around his wrist, pulling him forward and forcing their eyes to meet.  Jared’s were bloodshot and tear filled, full of raw truth and honesty, even if Jensen didn’t want to see it.

 

“You fucking _know_ me, Jen.  You have seen who I am stripped down in the moonlight and you _understand_.  You make me whole and I’m not willing to let that go.  I want all of this shit to stop.  Can’t you see that?  But I need you with me on this, not against me.  I’m sorry.  I’m so _fucking_ sorry.  This shit with Danni’s just a means to an end.”

 

Those words again.  The lengths Jared was willing to go scared Jensen, touched a place deep inside him that wasn’t worried about right or wrong or morality.  The mad, terrifying passion that someone like Jared possessed, it woke something up in Jensen and made him dangerous too.  But Danni, she was an innocent.  She couldn’t be a casualty of this. 

 

“To see this through to the end I need you with me on this, Jensen.  I need us together, a united front.  You want Danni safe and so do I.  That makes us partners, doesn't it?  We have the same goal.  We both want her safe and I think you know what I want next.  I think you want it too…” 

 

Jensen’s anger flared, and he pulled out of Jared’s grip. He felt nauseous as he realized – at the end of the day Jared was doing this all for him. To get Jensen to leave with him, make it so they could never come back.  

 

What he wanted didn’t matter anymore.  He had to see Danni safe.  Jensen hardened his heart, burying it as deep as he could, locked in a block of concrete, and submerged in the fathomless deep.  He forced his mind to take over, his training, his reflexes.  It was time to stop being blinded by Jared’s radiance, sucked in by the abyss of emotion.  It was time to fix this. 

 

“We're wasting time.”  Jensen barked, eyes trained on the ground. 

 

“See!  That's what I need, Jensen.  You're just sharp as a razor blade.  I need that side of you now.” Jared motioned to the others who were gathered at Jared’s truck.  “Let’s go.  Saddle up!”


	18. Ninety Seconds

Jensen tried to center, forcing himself to focus on Danni and doing what was needed to get her out of the situation that his actions had put her in.  It was easier said than done.  He was so blinded by rage that it was all he could do to play along with Jared’s requests.  Before Zach hopped in the driver’s seat and pulled out onto the washboard gravel road, Jared and Chad unloaded several large duffel bags full of weapons and clothes from Jared’s truck into the van.  Jensen eyed the bags with a grim look on his face as he sat on the van’s bare floor and the others piled in around him.  They were talkative and boisterous, obviously still feeling the rush of the speed star, but Jensen found it hard to focus on their conversation.  He retreated inside himself for the drive back to LA, letting his anger fester and build. 

 

The vibration of the road made his temples throb and the motion of the van made his stomach wobble.  He pulled his legs up and tipped his head between them, pressing the sides of his knees against his ears to help silence the guys’ voices and the metallic rattle of the van’s frame.  With his eyes shut he fell into a pit of dark quiet where he could drown as his thoughts scratched at the inside of his skull and his heart burned bitter in his throat.  The silence became an exercise in penance as Jensen berated himself, lamenting his own willful ignorance, his own blind indulgence.  It was his inability to control his desire that had him backed into an impossible corner with his innocent friend’s life on the line and he loathed himself for it.

 

Jensen’s racing mind kept him from dozing off as the van bucked along the road.  Eventually, he became aware that the conversation around him had ceased so he lifted his head and opened his eyes.  The others had fallen quiet in some sort of post-dive adrenaline crash but he could feel Jared’s eyes on him.  He kept his own pointed at the scuffed up floor instead of giving Jared the pleasure of a response.  Eventually, Jared scooted closer and sat with his back against the side of the van a few feet away from where Jensen sat.  He sat quietly there, perhaps waiting for the tension in Jensen’s body to fade. 

 

After a few minutes with the purr of Los Angeles freeway under the van’s balding tires Jared leaned closer, his breath falling soft and sweet on Jensen’s neck as he spoke.  “All I'm askin' for is ninety seconds of your life in return for hers, Jensen.  That's all.  I need you to take this ride with me…”  Jared’s voice was almost delicate as Jensen tightened his fists, fingernails biting into his palms.  “I don’t know if I will ever be able to make you understand, Jen, but I just need this one thing.  Then… well, then we can part ways for good.  If that’s what you want.  Just do this for me and I’ll make things right.  As right as I can anyway.” 

 

Jensen’s jaw clenched so tight that his head started to ache again.  He closed his eyes and shook his head, silently refusing to look at Jared, to let his words infect him for one minute more.  Jared sighed and slumped back against the wall of the van. 

  
“We’re about ten minutes out, Jay.”  Zach said from the front as they left the highway and began weaving down surface streets. 

 

Jensen kept his face turned away as weapons were loaded and checked.  He saw Tommy lay out four sets of body armor, four crisp black suits, a stack of hastily folded white shirts, and a tangled heap of skinny black ties wondering absently what exactly Jared expected him to do, there wasn’t exactly a fifth Ninja Turtle.  Zach parked the van under some trees on a quiet residential street and climbed into the back with the others to start getting dressed.  They changed with swift, practiced precision, stripping down to their skivvies to yank on suit pants and button up white shirts over Kevlar vests.  The skinny black ties were accessorized with white gloves and snappy, spit-shined oxfords. 

 

Once Jared was dressed, he focused on Jensen again.  “Got you a vest,” he said softly, “can’t be too careful.”  Jared tried to make eye contact as he slid the bullet-proof vest over to where Jensen sat, still as a statue.  Jensen let his eyes flicker over Jared without really meaning to.  He regretted it instantly, snapping his eyes shut, feeling sucker punched by Jared’s stunningly handsome form clad in the sharp, well-fitting suit.  So what if he cleaned up nice?  So fucking what.

 

“Sorry, brah.  We couldn’t find an April mask.”  Chad mocked as he began pulling their masks out of one of the bags.  He was referring to the perky, red-headed, reporter April O’Neal, a good friend of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.  Jensen was familiar enough with the franchise to understand the reference, sneering as the Tommy and Chad erupted into laughter at the joke made at Jensen’s expense. 

 

“In all seriousness, Jensen.  We need to talk strategy,” Jared interjected, causing the mood to severely sharpen as the reality of what was going down crowded in like fog around them.  “I know you don’t want to do this, I don’t want you to have to do this, but we are at a fucking impasse, man.  I need you on your game so you need to _fucking_ look at me and hear me out.”  Jared kept his eyes on Jensen until he finally turned his head and made eye contact. 

 

It was almost painful to look at Jared.  There was a frightening, detached, urgency in his eyes that Jensen wasn’t prepared for.  There were a million things he wanted to say to Jared in that moment but he’s strangled by his own anger and the danger in the air.  He swallowed the jagged words and nodded, knowing nothing he could say right now would change a thing.  He kept his eyes on Jared, working the straps on the bullet-proof vest loose and slipping it over his torso.   

 

“Okay, so, this sounds horrible but it’s just basic dog psychology.  You just gotta scare them enough to get them pissing down their leg.  After that they submit and you can control ‘em.  If you project weakness of any kind, you draw their aggression.  That's how people get hurt.”  Jared looked sternly at the others as if this lesson was for the whole class, not just Jensen.  “Fear causes hesitation and hesitation will cause your worst fears to come true.  You project strength to avoid conflict.” 

 

Jared’s mantra of model-bank-robber behavior was almost chilling in its rehearsed calm.  Jensen cringed.  Was this a speech Jared recited to keep the guys sharp or was it just the bullshit he told himself to get into the right mindset?  He couldn’t believe this was the same man he’d felt such a soulful, powerful connection with.  Mister Hyde was out and Jensen wasn’t sure which persona was real anymore.  He was pretty sure it didn’t matter anymore.

 

Tommy jumped in, oozing machismo.  “Peace through superior firepower, brah.”  He slid a bullet into the chamber of his rifle and cocked it with zeal. 

 

Once Jensen had his vest strapped tight over his t-shirt, Jared pulled a 12 gauge, pump-action shotgun from the duffle bag by his side and conspicuously emptied its shells, stuffing them into his pants pocket.  He tossed the weapon to Jensen. “Here, you need this.  You can't be comin' through that door with your dick in your hand, right?”  Jared smiled, his fox-like, devil-may-care grin hiding the deeper, darker intent that was bubbling below the surface. 

 

Jensen’s mouth was dry and his voice felt weak as he tried to appeal to Jared, one last time.  “Jared, I can't do this.”

 

“Sure you can!  You may even like it... it's a killer rush!”  Jared slapped him heartily on the shoulder and Jensen reached up quickly and grabbed his arm in an iron grip.

 

“Wake up call, Jared!  I am a goddamned F-B-I Agent!”  Jensen shouted, eyes locked on Jared’s.  The other men were on guard around him, ready to spring to Jared’s defense.

 

Jared just grinned softly, oozing calm, like every move Jensen made was expected, planned.  His eyes looked a million miles away even though they were trained right on Jensen’s.  “I know, man.  Wild, ain't it?!”  He tipped his forehead against Jensen’s, a move too intimate for the situation.  The others watched, unable to break free from the thick air of tension filling the cramped, hot space. 

 

“Jensen this is what I’ve been trying to show you since the day we met.  You must see it.  You and I exist on a higher plane…”  Jared’s voice was thick with pained desperation, almost chillingly sincere.  He pulled in a deep breath and backed up out of Jensen’s space, eyes searching Jensen’s, saddening when they didn’t find what they were looking for.  Jensen let go of Jared’s arm and turned his head with a sigh.  He was more resigned than ever to this chain of events, dragged along in Jared’s current, unable to break free. 

 

“We make our own rules, Jensen,” Jared said, his tone now passionate and severe.  “Why should you be a servant of the law when you can be its master?  I mean do you really think this is just about the money, man?”  Jared’s voice filled the small space with its bravado and his movements became exaggerated as he struggled to gain Jensen’s agreement.  “It’s about _us_ against the system!   The system that kills the human spirit.  _We stand for something_.  Those dead souls, inching along the freeway in their metal coffins, we show them that the human spirit is still alive.  That we all don’t have to be slaves to the machine.”

 

“Fuckin' A!  Preach it, Jay!”  Chad whooped loudly, slapping Jared on the back.  The others followed suit and a volley of cheers and high fives filled Jensen’s periphery.  A pit of angry, disgusted fire burned in his stomach as the others cheered on Jared’s routine.  He knew Jared was better than this and struggled to understand where the soulful and charismatic man he thought he cared for had gotten so blinded by his own self-righteous justifications.

 

Jared paused, his demeanor shifting again.  He shook off the rush of intensity that had just surged out of him, straightened his tie, and cleared his throat.  “Like I said, it’s just ninety seconds, man, door to door.  A small price to pay for someone who loves you.”

 

Jensen clenched and looked down at the floor as self-loathing and powerless rage bubbled in his guts. 

 

“She does you know.  Loves you.  It's not her style to fall so hard.” Jared said pensively, voice low and solemn.  Of course he was talking about Danni.  “You bring something out in people, Jen.  Something they’re not expecting.”  He pulled the Leonardo mask over his head smoothly.  The blue mask over the turtle’s eyes made Jared’s shift in color from brownish-green to blue-flecked gold as he stared at Jensen through the eye holes.  

 

The others followed suit.  Chad became Michelangelo, the turtle in the orange mask.  “Cowabunga dude!” He said with a chuckle, pumping his white-gloved fist in the air.  Tommy became red-masked Raphael and Zach snagged the final mask, Donatello in purple, before climbing back into the driver’s seat.  They pulled away from the curb as the bag sagged to the floor, empty.  No more masks.

 

“Sorry, Jensen.  There’s only four turtles,” Jared said flatly as he turned and dipped into the space between the driver and passenger seats.

 

They were closer to their destination than Jensen realized.  After driving for less than a minute, Zach swerved against a curb, throwing the van into park, leaving the keys in the ignition with the engine idling.  Jared moved aside as Zach climbed into the back and pulled his mask on.  Jared grabbed Jensen’s arm and yanked him onto his feet as the others gathered in front of them, flinging open the van’s back doors.

 

“Rock and roll!  Jared shouted, pushing Jensen out of the van and into the hot, Los Angeles afternoon.  The sun was almost blinding and Jensen used his left arm to shield his eyes as he found balance.  His knee was wobbly and a bit sore but Jared was there behind him, urging him forward with dizzying momentum regardless.  There was no turning back, he had to focus or he could get someone killed. 

 

The others formed up and they filed into the bank, Jensen sandwiched between Tommy and Jared, hot and huge trailing too close behind.  A portly security guard just inside the doors reeled back in shock, almost falling over at the sight of the Turtles bursting through the glass doors.  Tommy butt-stroked him in the gut with his weapon and knocked the stunned man to the ground.  A woman screamed, the shrill sound echoing in the small lobby as everything becoming a manic blur.

 

“Everybody freeze!  Don't fucking move!” Jared’s voice boomed, instantly grabbing everyone’s attention.  Terrified faces of customers and employees all turned toward them, eyes blown wide in fear.

 

Chad sprinted across the floor, shoving the barrel of his shotgun into the second guard’s face.  “Don’t fucking do it, man!”  Jensen saw the man’s hand tight, white-knuckled around the grip of his pistol where it was snapped securely in its holster. 

 

A young man near the front made a move to run for the doors but Zach’s gun came up like a reflex, smashing him right in the center of his face.  Blood sprayed of the man’s nose with a muffled crunch and Zach grabbed him by the hair, shoving him into the ground face first. 

 

Jared leapt into action, moving to the main counter and barking orders at the terrified employees.  “Tellers back away from the counter and put your hands on your heads!  RIGHT NOW!”  He paced as they complied, limbs jerky and trembling.  “That's right. You know the drill.” 

 

The chilling clench of déjà vu traveled across Jensen’s consciousness as he watched the Turtles work.  It was an almost perfect play-by-play replay of their other jobs, only this time it was in super high-definition Technicolor instead of a grainy surveillance video on a five-inch screen and he was right in the middle of it, his worst nightmare come true.  Jensen scanned the room, quietly cataloguing the customers and bank employees.  He pegged the bank manager right away, a short man in a blue suit standing with his hands clasped in front of his sternum, standing stock still with fear in front of the beige marble wall between the vault entrance and a series of small, glass-walled offices. 

 

Jared continued barking instructions.  “Everyone on the floor.  Let's go!”  He stomped across the edge of the lobby, circling the patrons menacingly as he shouted.  “Move it!  Get down!  On the floor!  Right now!” 

 

Chad and Tommy helped them along, shoving people down who were reluctant, frozen stiff with fear.  Zach watched the door as the others flanked the teller counter and shoved their guns in the faces of the terrified employees.  Jensen stood awkwardly with his empty shotgun, feeling completely lost.  He needed a plan, he had to do something but he couldn’t risk more innocent lives. 

 

He caught the eye of a customer who was in the process of hunkering down with the others.  It was only a quick glance but Jensen could see a change in the middle-aged man’s demeanor as he processed the look of blatant uncertainty and confusion on Jensen’s face.   He stopped sinking to the floor, pausing in a brief moment of defiance.  Jared’s harsh words of warning from before flashed through Jensen’s mind.  If this man saw Jensen as an opening, a weak point in the Turtle’s collective armor, he could make a break for it and that could get him, and probably others, injured or killed. 

 

Jensen grimaced and gestured fiercely toward the man with his shotgun.  “On the floor, asshole!  What's your fucking problem?!  If I blow your fucking kneecaps out, you'll be on the floor!”  The man’s face washed grey with fear and he hit the deck like a sack of cement.  

 

Jared swooped in beside Jensen, scanning the rest of the customers and employees, around twenty in all, with his huge pistol drawn.  “Kick in the ass, ain't it?  This is gonna be kinda hard to explain though... you know, when they play the tapes back down at the Bureau.  Could look bad on your monthly evaluation.” 

 

Jensen’s eyes shot up to surveillance camera mounted over the teller station.   The realization settled over him as his eye twitched in time with the red, blinking light next to the lens. .  Jared was backing him into an impossible corner, make him an accessory to their crime, leaving him with limited options and forcing him to choose – be locked up or run, become one of Jared’s vagabonds.  

 

“Yeah, this whole thing is kind of a career killer, Jay.  Can we just get the goddamn money and get out of here?”  Jensen couldn’t help but hide the urgency and panic in his voice.

 

“That's the spirit!”  Jared slapped Jensen on the back and winked through the mask’s rubber eye hole before turning and gracefully vaulting himself up onto the counter of the center island.  “I need your fucking heads down, folks!  Keep your eyes on the ground!  Just a couple more minutes and we're gone,” he shouted, commanding the room.  The script he’d performed dozens of times before rolled off his tongue with confident, brutal ease.

 

Motion to the left of the teller station caught Jensen’s attention and he pulled his eyes away from Jared.  Suddenly everything went off the rails.  Tommy and Chad weren’t going for the teller drawers like they did every other time.  Instead, they were pulling their canvas money bags out of their jacket pockets and heading toward the corridor leading to the bank’s vault. 

 

Jensen had methodically watched every scrap of surveillance video captured of the Turtles.  He knew their routine as well as they did and this was all wrong.  The Turtles speed and precision is what had gotten them this far without being caught.  Changing direction now made no sense. 

 

Jared hopped down off his perch and followed them, glancing back over his shoulder at Jensen who stood like a marble statue in the lobby.  Zach continued to cover the room, pacing back and forth in front of the customers with his gun clenched in his hands.  His movements seemed edgier than normal.  Something about this was all wrong. 

 

Jared leaned down over a young woman in a pale yellow dress who was lying on the floor near the hallway to the vault with her arms folded over her head.  Jared tapped her on the shoulder as he spoke.  “Hello there, I need your help for a moment.”  His voice was calm and he stayed patient with her until she found the courage to peek out from under her arm, looking up at him wide-eyed and confused, lower lip trembling in fear.  He slid his gloved hand over her narrow forearm and took her hand gently, helping her to her feet.  She stood slowly, keeping her eyes trained on the ground.  Jared brought his masked face down closer to her level and leaned in to read her nametag.  “Hello, Miss Jennings... of New Accounts.  Be a dear and open the inner gate for my associates, will you?”  Jared’s voice was muffled and cloyingly sweet but she slouched down, cowering away from him anyway.  He turned his head to look at the large clock positioned on the wall above the entryway and paused for a moment, counting the seconds away as Miss Jennings cowered silently.  “I’m not going to ask you again, miss.  Please open the inner gate,” Jared’s voice had lost the sweet touch it had before and his hand slid up her arm and tightened around her bicep. 

 

She sucked in an anxious breath and began shaking her head, tilting her eyes up to face him.  He held her holding her hands up, palms forward and fingers quivering.  “He-he-he has the keys!”  She stuttered out desperately.  “Not me!  Mr. Duggan!”  She pointed to the man Jensen had pinned as the bank manager when they first barged in.  Jared grabbed the front of her dress and dragged her over to where the manager was curled into an almost fetal position on the stone floor.   

 

“Is that true, Mr. Duggan?”  Jared barked as he jabbed the man in the ribs with the pointed toe of his Oxford.  “What do you say you give Miss Jennings the key so we can get this show on the road?”  The man didn’t move, if anything he curled into a tighter ball, pressing himself closer to the cold tile, like he was trying to sink into the floor.  The last shreds of his patience dissipating, Jared cocked his gun and growled, “Okay, Mr. Duggan, would you prefer I pick through blood and brain chunk to find them?”  He shoved Miss Jennings onto her knees in front of Mr. Duggan and pressed the steel muzzle of his weapon against the back of her head. 

 

She yelped and sobbed loudly as Mr. Duggan finally scrambled to his hands and knees, reaching clumsily into his pocket for the keys.  His hand trembled with fear as he held them out to his weeping employee. 

 

“Just do whatever they say, Terri,” he pleaded with her.  “Do what they say and it will be okay.”  She took the key from his hand and looked up at Jared, ready to comply.

 

“Good girl,” Jared said, pulling the gun away and releasing the hammer as she scrambled to her feet. Tommy and Chad flank her as she skittered across the floor, her kitten heels clattering loudly in the unnervingly silent room. She fumbleed with the key ring, unsuccessfully trying several keys before finally finding the right one. Chad shoved her to the floor as Tommy pulled the heavy door open and pushed the steel cage aside. They disappeared into the vault without a word, the room falling back into silence except for the quiet sobs of Terri who lay in a crumpled pile. Jared seemed unsure of what to do as his partners handled business inside the vault. He made eye contact with Zach for a moment, both men nodding in reassurance, before he began pacing a path back and forth between the kiosk and the vault entrance, tipping his head up to look at the clock every lap. 

 

Jensen crossed to the kiosk, and reached out for him, hand on Jared’s elbow, tilting in close to whisper urgent and panicked into his ear.  “What the hell are you guys doing?  You’re breaking your own fucking rules, man!  This is taking way too much time!  Ninety seconds my ass!”  

 

Jared ignored him and looked back at Zach who had stopped focusing on the customers and was watching the street through the bank doors, his eyes flickering over the idling van to the light pedestrian traffic. 

 

“How we doin’?” Jared asked as he crossed the lobby.

 

“All clear, man!”  Zach replied, sounding as upbeat as possible.  His his voice was pulled thin and his jerky, spastic movements told Jensen he was just as on edge as Jared.  They were all way outside of their comfort zones.  Jensen walked across the lobby to peer inside the vault.  Chad and Tommy were shoving nice, fat stacks of twenties and hundreds into the heavy-duty zippered duffel bags he’d seen earlier in the back of the van.

 

Jared’s nervous energy got the better of him and he jumped up on the teller counter, pacing with his eyes on the bank customers and employees lying prone and trembling on the floor.  “Just another few minutes folks, stay calm, stay quiet, and you stay alive!  Don’t try and be a hero today, your money is insured.  Just give us what we want and you all can go home after this.”  His voice lacks the power and authority from earlier.  Jensen wonders if any of the people on the floor are picking up the tension thrumming through the masked men.

 

Jensen was watching Jared when a movement on the floor caught his eye and his head turned in pure reflex toward the source of the motion.  A customer on the floor near the guard that Tommy gut-checked with his gun earlier had his head up and his eyes were skittering around the room.  The man was in his early forties with a close cropped military haircut wearing a yellow polo over khaki shorts – the average LA suburbanite.  The guard was slumped against the floor face sweat-slicked and pale in obvious pain, eyes pleading.  He shook his head in subtle, rapid little jerks.  Jensen took a few steps in their direction, realizing they were mouthing silent words to one another.  The customer’s lips formed the words, “I’m a cop” as his arm slid out from under his body.  Jensen saw the silver glint of metal being pulled from under the hem of his shirt.  The concealed weapon of an off duty police officer. 

 

Jensen acted in self preservation, shouting and sprinting toward them.  “FREEZE!”  The man was already up on his knees and had the .38 aimed at Jared.  “MOVE, MOVE!  He’s got a gun!”  Jensen shouted, trying to warn Jared and the other customers of the coming storm. 

 

It all happened like lightening, too quickly for Jensen’s banged up reflexes to react properly.  Avoiding gunfire was the best way to keep everyone safe but it was too late.  Jared spun around right as the off-duty cop fired.  It was a lucky move and the shot slammed square into the center of the chest instead of the unarmored meat of his shoulder or neck.  The impact of the shot catapulted him backward off the counter and he crashed to the floor behind the teller station.  Several customers shrieked and they all collectively covered their heads as the cop turned toward Jensen, his pistol aimed right at him.  

 

Jensen chucked his unloaded shotgun to the floor and showed his palms to the man, shouting desperately to get him to cease fire.  “Don’t shoot!  I’m a Federal agent!  Undercover!” 

 

Before the words were even out, the man fired twice rapidly. The shots were close range and pounded into his bullet-proof vest, one in his gut and the other just below his left shoulder, it felt like being kicked by a mule.  The impact slammed Jensen backwards and he landed hard on his back, pain blossoming in his chest and radiating out of the back of his head where it hit the tile.  The shots punched all the air out of his lungs and he struggled to catch a breath. 

 

The sound of a shotgun ripped through the lobby.  Jensen turned his head and despite vision blurred at the edges he could see Zach blasting a second round into the man with his pump-action 12 gauge.  His aim was desperate and imperfect and the off-duty cop’s body lurched and spun at it was hit by the spray of pellets.  Blood blossomed across his yellow shirt and misted into the air as he stumbled back, tripping over the legs of another patron.  He landed with an agonized groan, bloody foam sputtering from his mouth as the haze of gunpowder filled the air.    

 

Jensen pushed himself up, ignoring the familiar sting of cracked ribs as he assessed the damage.  He locked eyes with the still-trembling guard as he reached for a small gun that was tucked into his ankle holster. 

 

“WAIT!”  Jensen shouted, desperate to prevent more gunfire.  The panicked guard began squeezing off shots like a maniac, eyes glassy black like a terrified rabbit caught in a trap.

 

BLAM, BLAM, BLAM, BLAM!!!

 

Jensen’s ears rang and his vision wavered as the wild bullets ricocheted across the room.  Zach dove behind the check-writing kiosk and he loaded two more rounds.  Jensen scrambled to join him as the guard’s gun clicked again and again as the man continued to try and fire the empty weapon with a frantic sob. 

 

Suddenly Tommy launched out of the vault door.  He slid across the tile in his Oxfords, blasting the guard in the shoulder with a round from his shotgun.  The guard's shoulder exploded in a fury of red and he pitched back against the counter.   He cried out in agony and cradled the wreckage of his upper arm with his other hand before sliding to his knees with a pain-filled gasp.    


Jensen pulled himself up using the edge of the kiosk and scanned the room to assess the damage just as Chad joined the fray, dumping the huge bags of cash at Tommy’s feet before vaulting onto the teller’s counter to check on Jared. 

 

BLAM, BLAM!

 

Two more rapid shots tore through the air.  Jensen’s focus was pulled to the source, the off duty cop, still prone and bleeding on the floor, had unloaded two bullets blindly in Chad’s direction.  The young man’s hands scrambled for his neck as he teetered on the counter.  The juncture of his green mask and white collared shirt erupted in a gush of blood as he tipped backward, falling hard and final onto the floor.

 

“Noooo!”  Jared’s voice tore from his throat as pulled himself up from behind the teller counter.  His mask was askew and his suit jacket rumpled as he took in the scene of chaos.  His head tipped down toward his bleeding, gasping friend only for a moment before he stood tall, tearing the mask from his face and raising his huge, silver gun over the counter in a slow, deliberate arc.  He was too quick for the wounded off-duty officer.  Jared took aim and squeezed off one round, knowing it was all he needed from the Causull.  The sound of the gun was so loud it seemed to rattle the windows.  The shot’s shockingly loud, reverberating KABOOM echoed through the bank, drowning out the screams of the people on the floor and the sickening gurgle-gasps pouring out of Chad as he bled out. 

 

The cop’s chest exploded in a spray of blood and chunks of flesh as the round ripped into him at two thousand feet per second.  Jensen was sure he could hear the bullet impact the floor beneath him, punching clear through his chest like it was made of soft butter.  The force slid his body back across the blood-slick floor before he settled back in a twitching, wet heap.  The last echoes of the gun’s crack slapped the bank walls and everything fell suddenly quiet and still, the air blue with smoke.

 

Jensen finally took a breath, gasping like he just came up for air underneath the force of a huge wave.  It was like the ‘play’ button was hit and the rest of the room suddenly skittered to life again.  There were customers whimpering and moaning, a woman sobbing out a disjointed prayer, and a stream of wet, pleading gurgles coming from underneath Chad’s Michelangelo mask.  Jensen pulled at the Velcro on his vest, feeling suddenly claustrophobic, like the vest was restricting his ability to breathe.  His chest burned with intense pain as the Kevlar released.  He felt bone grind as he moved and knew he had broken some ribs.  His sternum ached as if it was cracked in two as his lungs expanded and contracted beneath it.

 

Jared pulled himself over the counter, dropping to the floor heavily and making eye contact with Jensen.  His eyes were bloodshot, lost, and distant and his face was full of dread and sadness.  His eyes flickered away from Jensen’s, absorbing the carnage in the room around him, assessing the bloody wreckage left by his insanity and ego. 

 

“Don't anybody fucking move!” He shouted loudly, voice ragged, face snarled up and red as he stood braced against the counter.  Zach slid up under Jared’s shoulder and tugged his mask up before helping him limp over to Chad.  Tommy was already at his friend’s side, mask discarded on the floor, eyes wet and horrified.  Tommy helped Chad up, pulling his twitching, pain racked body up against his own and tugged the Michelangelo mask back, revealing a kid with wild-wet eyes and tear stained cheeks.  Blood flowed down his chest in never-ending rivulets and his pupils were blown wide, body trembling as the life drained from him.  He moved his away from his wounded neck and stared down at the bright red blood his mouth slack and dry.

 

“Oh no, oh my god, oh god... it's all comin' out man, gotta stop it... it's all gonna come out... do something!!”  He tilted his head up, pleading to his friends, to the universe, as he clutched onto the lapel of Tommy’s jacket.  Tommy pulled him close and tried futilely to hold the blood back with his hand.  It spurted between his fingers as Chad’s skin faded to a sickening shade of grey and the light in his eyes waned.  He whimpered and slumped back against Tommy and his tear-laden eyelashes fluttered shut as he lost the battle for consciousness.  They all watched motionless as Chad sucked in his final breath. 

 

Sirens screaming in the distance pulled them all out of the gore soaked trance.  “We gotta bug out, man!  We're eatin' it bad on this one, Jay.  Let's go!”  Zach pleaded with Jared.  He grabbed Tommy by the shoulders, pushing Chad’s lifeless body onto the floor.  Tommy’s face was tear-streaked and slack with shock but he let Zach pull him to his feet.  Jared looked long and hard at Chad’s still-warm body, his blonde hair fanning out into the dark pool of blood growing beneath his head.  There was reverence in his eyes for a moment and he reached down, sweeping his hand over Chad’s face, fingertips kissing his freckles and pulling his eyelids shut.  He stood again and turned to Jensen’s, close enough that their chests were almost touching. 

 

Jared never seemed to understand the concept of personal space and in that moment Jensen was too broken and bruised in every possible way to care.  Jared let his eyes roam over his face and Jensen basked unabashedly in it.  His eyes were bloodshot, more aqua-blue than Jensen had ever seen, and it almost looked like he was going to speak, ask for forgiveness or apologize again.  Instead, Jared ran his hand, still wet with Chad’s coagulating blood, down the side of Jensen’s face, his thumb slipping up over the sharp curve of his cheekbone in silence. 

 

“Goodbye, Jensen.” He whispered against Jen’s lips, their breath mingling for a moment before he pulled back and brought the butt of his gun smashing down into the edge of Jensen’s skull, right above his temple. 


	19. Breaking Point

_“Your petals throbbing against the Earth,_  
 _trembling your submarine harvests,_  
 _your menace thickening the smooth swell,_  
 _with pulsations and swarming of schools,_  
 _and only the thread of the net raises_  
 _the dead lightning of fish-scale,_  
 _one wounded millimeter, in the space_  
 _of your crystal completeness.”_

_from ‘The Wide Ocean’ – by Pablo Neruda_

 

There was blissful nothingness in the sweet, unconscious dark that enveloped Jensen.  He’d experienced it before and it made him quite sure there was nothing awaiting him in the hereafter – no life after death, no heaven or hell – just silent, sweet darkness.  When he was a kid, he crashed his bicycle and his head slammed into the curb.  He was knocked out cold and in a coma for nearly a week but when he woke up he remembered feeling like no time at all had passed.  The first thing he said to his mom was that he needed to study for his algebra test.  In reality, test had come and gone and Jensen was none the wiser.  No angels spoke to him while he was out, His life never flashed before his eyes, no visions of gods or monsters tormented him in the dark.  There was just peaceful, limitless blackness, soft and velvety, like the hug of eternity, timeless yet fleeting. 

 

As the light began filtering in around the edges of his consciousness Jensen’s first thought was that he didn’t want to be awake.  He had no interest in feeling the hot California sun on his skin and no desire to hear the chatter of the crowd that had gathered around the crime scene to rubberneck.  He didn’t want to see his partner and definitely wanted nothing to do with Agents Wester or Buckley.  Yet, there he was – lying on a stretcher, bright sun filtering through is his eyelids and a chattering crowd of passersby and reporters, FBI agents, local PD, coroner’s officials, and CSI team all buzzing around him. 

 

As the real world continued to focus Jensen became aware of Agent Wester, standing at his left, reading him his Miranda rights.  His voice was smug and nasal, as usual.  “ – if you so desire, an attorney will be provided for you free of cost.  Do you understand these rights I have explained to you?”  There was a cool pressure on his right wrist and he turned minutely to see Agent Buckley who cinched the handcuff closed with a gut curdling ‘ _snickt_.’

 

“Ackles!”  Jim pushed through the crowd, shoving Agent Wester out of the way and leaning over Jensen with concern.  “Was he even conscious when you started reading those, jackass?  Get the fuck away from him.” 

 

Jensen pulled himself to seated, frowning down at the wrist AJ had just cuffed to the metal rail of the ambulance stretcher.  His shirt was gone but there was a layer of ACE bandages wrapped around his bruised torso.  He reached his hand up to his throbbing left temple to find gauze and tape there too.  He felt like he got hit by a Mack truck and could only imagine what he must look like compared to that handsome, cocky fuck that walked into the FBI ready for his first day on the job just a few months back. 

 

“Jesus, kid.  What the fuck have they done to you?”  Jim asked rhetorically.  “I knew you were getting too close to these guys…”  He turned as his words trailed off and grabbed Agent Buckley’s arm.  “Give me the fuckin’ handcuff keys, AJ.  Christ!”  He gave up the key without a fight and Jim unlocked the cuff. 

 

“No, no, no!  Agent Beaver you put those cuffs back on right now!  We’re taking him into custody.”  Agent Morgan’s voice boomed behind Jensen as he approached, feet heavy and urgent on the concrete.  “Your partner here is an accessory to armed robbery and murder. You do realize that, don’t you, Jim?”  JD yanked the cuffs out of Jim’s hand and fastened them tightly around Jensen’s wrists where they rested in his lap. 

 

Jensen was still in a daze, the frantic, violent memories of what had just gone down washed over him in painful waves.  He looked past Agent Morgan as paramedics wheeled a body draped in a white sheet toward the Coroner’s van.  The coroner stood next to another gurney that held a black body bag.  He rested his clipboard at the deceased’s feat and finished zipping it up over Chad’s ashen, blood spattered profile.  Jensen swallowed thickly, frustration and anger balled up in his throat.  Chad was right about not making it to thirty.  It was sickening and tragic.

 

“Two men dead, Ackles.  One of them a cop.  How's that sit in your gut?”  Agent Morgan said bitterly, clasping his huge, meaty hand over Jensen’s shoulder in an attempt to get his attention.

 

Jensen glared up at Morgan, eyes burning into the coarse, insensitive man. “Take your hand off my shoulder. Right _fucking_ now,” Jensen said, low, slow and cold.

 

JD pulled back with indignant shock, his eyes going wide, that huge vein bulging in his forehead.  Jim stepped between them, putting his palm flat on Agent Morgan’s chest and pushing him back.   “Look, JD.  I know he rubs your ass the wrong way but he’s one of us.  Don't turn him over to the uniforms like some punk.  Let me take him in.”  Jim’s face looked broken.  He had worked diligently on this case for so many years and now it was blown wide open and the men responsible were either dead or in the wind. 

 

JD seemed to see the desperation in Jim and take pity on it, a rare thing to witness.  His hard features softened slightly as his eyes flickered over to Jensen and then back to Jim’s bedraggled form.  “Yeah, sure.  Why not?”  He said, sounding almost contrite for a moment before thinking better of it.  “You two screw-ups deserve each other.  Christ, Beaver, you're as bad as he is...  talk about the blind leading the blind.”  JD huffed and shook his head. 

 

Jim’s demeanor suddenly changed and he shoved his finger into Agent Morgan’s sternum.  “Let me tell you something, _sir_.  I was an agent in this bureau when your mommy was still wiping snot off your squirrely little face, and you know one thing I learned in all those years that you still haven't?”

 

“What’s that?”  JD asked, arms folded across his chest smugly. 

 

Jim stepped forward and nailed JD with a roundhouse punch that had all of his weight behind it.  “Respect your elders,” Beaver bellowed. 

 

JD was not prepared for the impact.  His head snapped back, and he stumbled backward, tripping on the curb and landing in a heap on the concrete with his hands cradling his bleeding nose.

 

“Let's go, kid.”  He curled his hand around Jensen’s bicep and guided him to the white Chevy he’d been given to replace the car destroyed by the gas station fire.  He opened the rear passenger door and urged Jensen to sit, looking back at JD and the other agents to make sure they saw his intent. 

 

Jim climbed in behind the wheel and started the engine.  They drove for a couple of blocks in silence, Jim stared straight ahead and pointed the car toward the freeway. 

 

“I know where they're going.”  Jensen said with his eyes on Beaver in the rearview. 

 

“Figured you did,” Jim said, smiling as he flipped the handcuff key over his shoulder to Jensen.  “My gym bag’s back there if you want to snag a t-shirt.  Might be a size or two too big for your scrawny ass but it’s better than nothin’.” 

 

Jensen pulled the bandages off his head and rubbed his hand gently over the swollen knot left by the butt of Jared’s gun.  It was throbbing like a bitch but thankfully it had barely broken the skin and the bleeding had long since stopped.  He pulled one of Jim’s FBI issue tee shirts over his head, wincing at the soreness in his ribs.  The tightly wrapped bandages helped but the spots beneath where the bullets had slammed into the Kevlar throbbed in time with his heartbeat. 

 

“There’s only one catch,” Jensen said. “We can't arrest them or shoot them.”

 

Jim looked back at Jensen over his shoulder, a look of complete disbelief twisting his grizzled face.

 

“They have Danni, Jim.  We have to do this right or she’ll die.”

 

__________

 

The Santa Monica Airport was nestled unassumingly a few miles northeast of Marina Del Rey.  It was the closest airfield Jim could think of that was close to the Turtles’ stomping grounds and dealt mostly in small, local chartered flights.  Jensen remembered driving past it on a winding route he sometimes took to and from work from to avoid rush hour traffic jams.  It was a long shot but Jensen knew they sure as hell weren’t planning to fly out of LAX. 

 

Jim drove the white sedan slowly down the frontage road facing the tarmac.  A parking lot of small planes lined the far side of the airstrip, creating a jungle of wings and fuselage as camouflage as they scanned for any sign of Jared and his remaining crew.  They agreed to split up, sending Jensen in the car down to the main hangar where the guys would be if they had chartered a plane here.  Jim would provide backup, working his way on foot around the perimeter of the tiny airport to meet up with Jensen at the main entrance.  He stopped the car between a pair of single-prop Cessnas that were covered with white protective tarps and let Jensen get behind the wheel.  

 

Jensen continued down the frontage road around to the other side of the airstrip.  When he reached the hangers on the north side, he spotted a small aircraft that had taxied to the front of the hangars.  It looked familiar and as he slowed to a stop he realized it was the same plane he had jumped out of less than twenty-four hours earlier.  They were there, his hunch was right. 

 

Jensen pulled the car around to the rear of one of the small storage buildings at the edge of the tarmac and opened the glove compartment to snag Jim’s spare snub nose revolver.  It was loaded with only two shells and there were no other bullets to be found in the glovebox or under the seat.  It would have to do, he was desperate. 

 

He got out of the car and tucked Jim’s oversized navy blue FBI t-shirt into his jeans, sliding the gun into the waistband at the small of his back.  By the time he walked back to the hangar, Zach and Jared were on the blacktop too, loading duffel bags into the Cessna.  The plane’s engines were running and the pilot was sitting in the cockpit, probably in the process of completing his pre-flight checks.  Jensen was running out of time. 

 

He stayed close to the side of the hangar as he approached, moving quickly and quietly as he kept his eyes open for Tommy.  Jared and Zach had shed their suits and body armor in favor of tank tops and boardshorts.  Zach was dressed in muted earth tones and Jared had on bright white trunks and a flashy turquoise shirt emblazoned with a day-glo orange Santa Monica sunset, complete with palm trees.  They looked like a couple of surfers getting ready for a charter flight to better waters. 

 

“Where's Tommy?”  Jensen shouted over the hum of the propellers as he stepped forward onto the runway.  He held his hands out, palms forward and away from his body to show he was unarmed and submissive. 

 

“He’s around here somewhere.”  Jared said nonchalantly, almost as if he had been expecting him.  Both men turned to face him.  Zach looked alarmed and pulled a small black handgun out of the waistband of his rust brown cargo shorts. 

 

“We’re in kind of a hurry, Jen.  What can we do for you?  Or, did you have a change of heart and decide to come with us after all?” Jared asked with a twisted smirk.  Jensen swore he saw a faint glimmer of something softer in his eyes despite his tone. 

 

Zach looked at Jared, ready to strike on his command like a loyal guard dog.  Jensen stepped closer and Zach cocked his weapon, taking aim. 

 

“I'm not armed,” he said, trying to reassure Zach.

 

“But you're not alone,” Jared pointed out, eyes boring into Jensen’s with dark intensity.

 

“Good guess, Jay.  You’re right.  There's a gun on you right now, actually.”

 

Jared made a show of looking around for Jensen’s supposed gunman.  Jensen wasn’t sure where his partner was but he knew he should have already honed in on Jared’s plane just like he had. 

 

“Jared, please.  You gotta tell me where she is,” Jensen pleaded while doing his best to remain stoic and calm. 

 

“What, and let my policy expire?  Sorry, Jen.  No can do.”  Jared’s words had bite and his stance showed no sign of budging. 

 

“People are _fucking_ dead, Jay.  Chad is _dead_.  The ride is over.” 

 

“No, _Agent_.  I say when it's over.”    

 

Jensen tried to remain even-keeled but a lump formed in his throat.  “Jared, I know I wasn’t honest but I swear to god I never wanted this, I never expected…” 

 

Jared looked down at the asphalt as Jensen’s words trailed off.  He steeled his jaw and sighed before bringing his arm up in front of Zach, pushing the gun down.  “Can you give us a minute, man?  Go find Tommy, I think he went to take a piss.” 

 

Zach looked back and forth between Jared and Jensen, not sure he should leave his friend.  Jared looked at him reassuringly, nodding softly.  He reluctantly tucked the gun back into his waistband and trotted over to the hangar, leaving them on the tarmac next to the idling plane.  Jared stepped closer to Jensen while still keeping his distance, as if he were trying to ignore the magnetic pull that still existed between them.

 

“I don’t know, Jen.  I don’t know how deep whatever this is between us goes.  I thought I knew.  I thought there was a chance that what we did today would make you see that this thing you call a life – the fucking _lies_ , the so-called “justice” – is all fucking bullshit.”  Jared kept his gestures tight and controlled, his eyes trained on Jensen as he spoke.  “It’s all a man-made construct, man, a control mechanism, meant to keep the rich fat and happy and the poor fighting tooth and nail for a tiny piece of the pie.” 

 

Jared’s eyes burned like fire and his shoulders trembled with tension.  “You know what’s real, Jensen?  The sky is _real_.  The sea is _real_.  The fucking ground we’re all going to be buried in one day is _real_.  What’s fucking real is the way you make me feel…”  Jared’s words broke off in a sob, his face twisted, red, and tormented as he fought back tears. 

 

Jared’s mask was finally slipping.  It was as if all the shit he’d seen over the years had finally come crashing down.  That day’s hard and bloody dose of reality had shattered something deep inside him and all the toxic bullshit was all finally rising to the surface, leaving Jared naked and exposed.  The pain in his eyes was that of man that had gone so far he didn’t know how to get back.

 

“You might think you want to get old and die in the suburbs with a wife and three kids, pencil-pushing behind a desk until your pension kicks in, growing old and soft in the middle with too much debt and bridge every Sunday with the neighbors but you’re _wrong_.  I’ve seen you, man – I’ve seen the _real_ you.  The one you’ve tried to bury your entire life.  You’re him when you’re out on the waves, flyin’ through the sky, screaming my fucking name.  The fire in your eyes, Jensen, I wish you could see it, _believe in it_.  You’re more like me than them!”  Jared pointed out at the vast city, his tone escalating.  “I want to _live_ in this life, Jen.  I want to taste and touch and _fuck_.  I don’t want to live in a Habitrail with the rest of the vermin.  I want to strip it all away and not have to apologize for who I am or answer to anyone.”  Jared ran his hands through his hair and looked up at the sky, his body thrumming with fierce energy.    

 

Jensen was frozen by Jared’s outpouring of emotion.  His words were like acetone eating through all of Jensen’s convictions, marring his very sense of right and wrong.  The flaming heat in Jensen that burned to catch Jared and bring him to justice and finally make him pay for his crimes was flickering with doubt like a candle in a strong breeze.  Jensen clung to it breathlessly, trying to shoulder Jared’s words and filter them through all the lies and deception that had passed between them.   

 

 “Today the plan was to finally get enough money to get out of this shit once and for all.  Enough that we could just find a beach somewhere and never have to come back to this disgusting, piss-stinking, concrete wasteland.  I thought I’d finally found the something to give me the strength to put this life behind me once and for all but you know what, Jen, I see it now.  You’re all about the fucking _rules_ , just like the dad you’re still running away from and the goddamned society that will shun you in a second if they saw who you really were.”  There were tears welling up in Jared’s bloodshot eyes.  His hands were balled into tight fists and the veins in his forearms rippled as the dam of emotion got ready to burst. 

 

“God damn it, Jared this isn’t about you and me anymore.  That guy you killed back there was an off duty cop! If you get out of here they'll track this plane and nail you wherever you land.  It’s the end of the goddamned line.  There’s no coming back from this!”  Jensen felt the tears hot and wet on his cheeks and wished he knew who he was shedding them for. 

 

The sound of a shell entering the chamber of Tommy’s pump-action shotgun caught both their attention.  Zach had found him and they were crossing the short distance from the hangar, weapons trained on Jensen.

 

Jensen ignored them, pleading with Jared.  “God damn it!  I know you, Jay.  When they finally catch up to you, you won't back down. They'll have to burn your ass to the ground and I can't stop them.  I'm the last person they're ready to listen to right now, no thanks to you.” 

 

“Yeah, well that makes two of us, Jen.”  Jared said, tipping his head toward his partners who didn’t seem at all interested in humoring any more of the lover’s quarrel. 

 

“Look, you got a death wish, Jared, you want to ride to glory... _fine_!  But don't take Danni out with you, man. I'm begging you.  Just tell me where she is and then I walk away.  I’ve earned that much, haven't I?  She wasn’t meant to be in the middle of this…” 

 

Suddenly the plane’s engines changed tone and the propellers sputtered and slowed.  Jared looked up with alarm on his face glaring at the pilot through the cockpit window.  The man had clearly clocked the tension between his would-be passengers and was looking for answers.  The pilot opened the door of the plane and started climbing down the stairs, pausing when Tommy pointed the barrel of his shotgun at him.  Jared looked back at the pilot over his shoulder calmly. 

 

“Back in the hotseat, campadre.  Get her started up again, okay?” 

 

The man raised his hands and backed up the ladder with Tommy following him on board.  He revved up the engines again and the propellers resumed, having barely faded out. 

 

As the air began thrumming again with the sound of the plane, Jensen saw movement in his periphery.  Agent Beaver slipped out from behind one of the planes on the hangar side of the runway, popping off two quick shots.  Jensen could tell he was aiming at the plane but both Zach and Tommy turned reflexively and fired in Jim’s direction.

 

The blast of Tommy’s shotgun from the top of the plane’s steps sent smoke into the air.  Jensen watched his partner hurl his weight sideways as the buckshot punched into the fender of a parked plane.  Some of the pellets caught Jim in the hip and elbow but he barely flinched, hitting the ground hard and whipping his .38 up to squeeze off a few more rounds.

 

BLAM, BLAM, BLAM!

 

Jim’s aim was true and the shots nailed Tommy in the thigh, shoulder and stomach, sending him onto his back, sliding down the plane’s steps, the shotgun blasting up into the sky as he fell.  Jim was on the ground, bleeding and totally exposed, only twenty feet from the others.

 

Zach fired once wildly in Jim’s direction and the shot blew a divot out of the asphalt next to Beaver’s head.  He took aim again but was too slow, Agent Beaver’s fourth and fifth rounds drilled into his torso, slamming him against the Cessna's fuselage. He slid down, face twisted in agony, leaving two red smears on the white body of the aircraft.

 

Jared lunged for Zach’s fallen pistol and Jim took aim with one round left in his revolver.  Jensen sprinted between them, holding his hands out and shouting.  “Jim, no!  Stop!  Don't fire!”

 

“Kid, get outta the way!”  Jim shouted, trying to aim past Jensen at Jared. 

 

He backed up into Jared, using his own body as a shield.  “Jared, get in the plane, _now_!” Jensen shouted as he grabbing Jared’s arm, shoving him toward the steps.  He turned back to face his partner and saw Jim stand up, panting and angry.  He gripped the bloody stain spreading across his hip and winced as he tried putting weight on that leg.  Everything was tense and electrified, Jensen’s head whipped back and forth between his partner, Jared, and the terrified pilot who was hunkered down in the cockpit.  Jensen had to get Jared on the plane if he had any hope of saving Danni.   

 

BOOM!

 

Jensen watched in slow-motion horror as Jim’s chest exploded with a spray of blood.  Tommy was up on his elbow in an ever expanding pool of scarlet with a loaded .45 in his hand, the other clenched over his ruined abdomen.  He fired at Jim again before Jensen could pull his plan-b revolver, the shot hitting Agent Beaver in the stomach.  His partner dropped to his knees, arms folding weakly around his ruined body like he was hugging himself.  

 

“Jim – NO!” Jensen screamed, face twisted with shock as he ran toward his wounded partner.  

 

In Jim’s dilated pupils Jensen saw fear and anger slipping away to leave Jensen holding a single question:  “Why?”  Jim slumped forward and landed on his blood-slick palms, heaving and bleeding.  Jensen dropped to his knees beside him, terrified at the wheezing sound escaping his partner’s punctured lung.  He was exposed, Tommy could take him out if he wanted, but Jensen was beyond caring.  The backup revolver in his hand skidded on the pavement as his hands braced Jim’s body.  His eyes pitched back to Jared, pleading for help without saying a word. 

 

Jared held up his hand up in a gesture like a benediction.  “Stop, Tommy.  STOP!  Enough.” 

 

Jensen focused on Jim, vaguely aware of Jared behind kneeling on the pavement to help his friend. 

 

“Hang in there, Jim.  It’s going to be okay,” Jensen said as he heard sirens in the distance, saw flickering red and blue on the other side of the chain link fence in his peripheral vision. 

 

“Don’t let them get away, Jensen,” Jim begged, coughing and sputtering blood into his salt-and-pepper beard. 

 

Jensen looked back at Jared.  He had Tommy’s gun aimed at Jensen and was half-carrying, half-dragging Tommy to the plane.  Zach’s body was slumped in a lifeless pile to the right of the steps, beyond help.  The pilot’s face was pale with shock where he stood frozen in place in doorway of the plane, looking ready to bold if he could remember how.

 

“I ain't flyin' you guys to San Phillipe man, forget it.  Not now!”  The man shouted, palms waving wildly as Jared helped Tommy who was bleeding like a stuck pig onto the plane. 

 

“Thanks for telling the nice FBI agent where we're going.”  Jared said, pointing the gun at the pilot. “Get us the fuck out of here, now!”  The calm in Jared’s voice was chilling.

 

“God damn it, Ackles…”  Jim slumped back with a gurgled wheeze, glaring angrily.  Jensen couldn’t let Jared escape, even if it meant leaving his partner bleeding out on the pavement.  Jim would never forgive him if he did. 

 

Jensen sprinted back toward the plane as Jared appeared in the doorway.  His expression was lethally cold and his eyes shadowed.  He raised Tommy’s gun and shot a round into the ground at Jensen’s feet.  The bullet impacted not an inch from his toe but he kept running anyway, reaching the steps just as the plane began to lurch forward.  Jared’s face was twisted in an angry snarl but he backed up, letting Jensen leap onto the plane as it started to pick up speed down the runway.

 

“Fine, guess we’re gonna ride this out together, all the way.  Let's go.”  Jared chucked the gun out onto the tarmac and pulled his Causull out of the back of his shorts that were streaked crimson with Tommy’s blood.  He pressed the muzzle into Jensen’s chest, poking painfully into his bruised sternum, and tipped his head toward the cabin of the plane.  Jensen nodded slowly, accepting that this was all somehow pre-ordained, as if they both knew the game would take them to this point all along.  He turned and sat down behind Tommy who was grimacing and bleeding all over his seat.

 

Jensen looked out the window as the plane soared into the bright blue California sky, watching cop cars and ambulances converge on the shrinking airstrip below.  He closed his eyes and whispered a silent, godless prayer for his partner and thought about Danni.  It was all he had left to keep him going.  He would see her safe or die trying.


	20. Mirage

“Lower, I said LOWER!  Keep her under the radar!”  Jared was half in the cockpit with the pilot, waving his Causull and shouting as the plane bucked and banked wildly.  The pilot’s nerves were beyond shot as he steered the tiny plane through between red and gold desert sandstone canyons as the sun sank low in the sky.

 

Jensen watched grimly as Tommy clung to life, a pale, sweaty mask on his face and his body limp and ruined like a bloody, rumpled coat.  Jensen looked out the window, watching the shadow of the Cessna bobbing up and down over the broken terrain below, a sun blistered landscape of cactus and scrub brush, sandstone and shale.  Dust devils swirled beneath them and he could see the ground far too clearly for his own liking. 

 

The pilot yelled over his shoulder to Jared, “Look, we been in Mexico the last half hour, man.  Can I quit mowing the lawn here or what?  I'm getting more brush in the wheels than I usually like, you know what I'm sayin’?!” 

 

Jared relented, knowing the man was right.  “Yeah, alright get some altitude.  Take her up to eight thousand and stay on this heading.” 

 

Jensen’s stomach lurched as the pilot pulled back on the yoke, making the plane climb rapidly.  Jared moved back into the cabin next to Tommy, who was fading just as quickly as the plane gained altitude.

 

“We're gonna pop up on their screens, Jay.” Tommy coughed. 

 

“Doesn't matter now,” Jared said, his voice calm and soothing.  “We're almost there, man.  Here, let me help you get your gear on.” 

 

Jensen knew there was no way Tommy would survive a jump but he watched Jared drag a parachute pack up next to his friend, helping him into the harness.

 

“I'm cold…”  Tommy said quietly, almost too low for Jensen to hear over the din of the engines. 

 

“You're gonna be fine, Tommy.  Just fine.”  Jared sounded choked up and it made Jensen furious.  Jared had watched his three closest friends die in a matter of mere hours yet he didn’t seem to comprehend that each one was a casualty of being caught up in Jared’s gravity.

 

“You're cold because all the blood is running out of your body, Tommy.  You're going to be dead soon.”  Jensen hissed, anger seething at Jared as he glared into the back of his head.  “I hope it was worth it.” 

 

Jared patted his friend’s shoulder.  “Hey, Jensen’s just trying to psych you out man, forget it.  Just keep thinking about all those senoritas down in Mexico that are gonna help nurse you back to health.  Come on, amigo, let's get you set for the jump.”  Jared helped Tommy stand, propping him up next to the open door. 

 

He lifts the duffle bags full of cash, one at a time, criss-crossing them over Tommy’s chest and buckling them under the straps of his parachute.  Jensen flinched at the brutality of what Jared was doing.  There weren’t many options to get the cash to the ground, even if Tommy was sure to be as dead as a doornail once they got there. 

 

Tommy set for his jump, Jared took a walkie-talkie out of the bag sitting in the rear seat.  He switched it on and pressed the button.  “This is Air Force One, do you copy, over?” 

 

A burst of static followed, replaced by a surprisingly clear voice.  “ _Copy you, Air Force One.  We have a visual on you.  Lookin' fine._ ” 

 

“Tell them to release Danni,” Jensen barked, leaping up out of his seat and lunging toward Jared.

 

“Why should I?”  Jared asked, eyes hard and emotionless.

 

“What if your chute fails, Jared?  Rescind the kill order.  Let her off the hook, she's served her purpose,” Jensen reasoned.  “Do it, man, you owe me that much.” 

 

Jared didn’t look convinced. 

 

“Look, I’m here now, right?  Let me be your insurance policy.” 

 

Jared looked at Jensen long and hard, eyes casting over to Tommy whose eyes were fluttering shut, fading fast.  His hand was wrapped tight around the chute release, he was ready to jump.  Jared sighed, resigned, and keyed the walkie again.  “Surgery is canceled, is that clear?  Repeat.  Surgery is cancelled.  Over.”

 

“ _Copy that.  Surgery is canceled.  We’re lettin' the bitch go.  Over._ ” 

 

Jared sat down the walkie-talkie and pulled his chute on, buckling the straps over his blood stained clothes.  He pulled open the jump door, wind whipping through his long hair as he looked out into the void.  Jensen could see the gears clicking in Jared’s head as he gauged distance, airspeed, and the geography below.  He reached back under the chute pack and extracted the burly, silver Causull, turning and aiming it at Jensen.

 

“I know this is hard for you, Jen.  I can see in your eyes how much you want it.  You want to take me out so bad it's like acid in your mouth.  It’s written all over your face, babe.  Sorry, not this time.”  Gun aimed squarely at Jensen’s head, he reached down and grabbed Tommy by the front straps of his chute, pulling him to his feet. 

 

“Let's go,” he shouted, a signal to the pilot.  Jensen felt the plane lurch and drop as the engines cut back to an idle.

 

Jared yanked Tommy sideways toward the bay door and he slumped backwards out of the plane, Jared’s eyes never leaving Jensen’s.  “I’ll never forget you, Jen but you lose this round.”  He chucked the Casull onto the seat nearest the door and jumped, tumbling out into space.

 

Jensen’s knuckles were white where he gripped the back of the seat.  It was over.  He was gone.  

 

The pilot started the engines again and the propellers whirred back into action.  “Shut the door, wouldja’ kid?”  He called back to Jensen.

 

NO.  Jensen leapt up in an explosion of rage, driving his fists into the bulkhead, looking around desperately assessing his options.  There were no other chutes and every second that passed took Jared further away from him, closer to getting away with it all, leaving Jensen holding the bloody fucking bag. Seconds ticked away in Jensen’s head, each one sending him closer to the edge.  Two, three, four…

 

“FUCK IT!”  Jensen shouted as he snapped, grabbing the heavy, silver Casull off the seat and making a running leap out of the open door without a parachute. 

 

Jensen tasted the bile in his throat immediately as his body and mind thrummed with pure, white-hot panic.  He held the huge gun close to his chest and sucked in a breath, trying to center himself, afraid he would lose consciousness if he didn’t.  He had to open his eyes, he had to focus.  He had to catch Jared.  Clutching the gun in an iron grip, he pressed his arms down to his sides and pointed his body head-down, building speed.

 

It was disorienting at first but as his body adapted to the sensation and his eyes focused he spotted Jared, at least three hundred feet below him in the sky.  He was freefalling in a spread-eagle position which slowed his velocity.  It was the safest pose for a standard jump.  Jensen moved his feet and hands to angle his body toward him, knowing Jared couldn’t see him.  He would never in a million years expect this move.  Jensen slashed downward through the sky at 160 miles per, watching the gap between them close.

 

His eyes burned, goggle-less in the wind stream, and his lips were peeled back with the extreme force of the dive.  Jared was only eighty feet below him and Jensen estimated they were about four thousand feet from terra firma, plenty of time.  Jensen focused all of his incredible will and concentration on his target. He only had one shot catching Jared and making it out of this insane stunt alive.  If he didn’t snag onto him in mid-air, he would tumble to the ground without a chute.   At least his death would be quick. 

 

He closed in on his former love with a single minded focus, like a missile locked on its target.  Three, two, one, Jensen crashed down onto Jared’s back, clinging to him in a mid-air tackle.  The impact sent them tumbling in a wild tangle of limbs, spinning out of control together through the open sky.  Jensen locked his body around Jared’s in an iron grip but there was a significant problem.  He couldn’t pull the release without letting go of the gun or his grip on Jared.  He had to get cooperation from him if they were going to make it.  He pulled the Casull's muzzle up to Jared’s temple and screamed against the side of his face.

 

“Pull the parachute!” 

 

Jared turned his face as much as he could, their eyes meeting despite the strained angle.  Jared’s gaze was almost soul-piercing in its intensity and he grinned wildly, almost as if he was happy Jensen had caught him.

 

“Pretty fucking radical, Jensen.  Even for you.  Why don't you pull it?  You’re the one with all the leverage.” 

 

“No more fucking games, Jared.  Pull the cord!  Now!!”

 

“Naw, you pull it, Jen!”  Jensen looked down at the release, trying to think of another way.  He saw the earth rushing at them, only twenty five hundred feet to go, maybe less.

 

“Go on, Jensen.  Pull it.  But you gotta drop the gun first, right?!  Use your other hand and what are you gonna hold on with?”  Jared’s wicked smile was burning hot as the sun.  Jensen could see the fucker was ready to die, eager to face the end in such a glorious rush. 

 

“Pull it right now, Jared or I'll blow your fucking head off and pull it myself!”  Jensen screamed, desperate and terrified.

 

“Well, I guess that's the only way it's gonna happen then, man.  Do it!  Come on, you want to do it.  I know you do.  You're gonna die if you don’t!  We both are.  Five more seconds.  Four...” 

 

The ground was close enough to see detail – cactus, sagebrush - they rocketed past the bright yellow canopy of Tommy’s chute a hundred feet away.

 

“Are you fucking crazy!?  Pull it!!”  Jensen screamed, right in Jared’s face.  

 

His eyes were wild, full of gleeful, adrenalized madness.  “Kinda poetic, isn’t it, Jen?  They’re not gonna be able to tell where you start and I stop when they scrape us off the rocks!”

 

“Shit!”  Jensen flung the Casull into the sky and pulled the rip-cord so hard he almost lost his grip anyway.

 

POOM!  

 

The canopy cracked out into the sky.  Full, round, and bright red as Jensen clung to Jared for dear life.  The ground roared up at them like a freight train, the chute was open but there was not enough time for it to slow them down enough for a safe landing.  Time seemed to stand still in those last moments.  Jensen breathed in and could smell Jared for a brief glimmering moment before impact.  A tear slipped from the corner of his wind-burned eye and he caught a glimpse of the bright white of Jared’s dimpled smile, his eyes glimmering gold like the sunset that lit the desert sky on fire around them.

 

They impacted together, hard.  Not slowed nearly enough by the late opening chute.  The sandy earth was somehow mercifully softer than Jensen imagined it would be.  Their tangled bodies tumbled down the slope of an arroyo in a cloud of red-brown dust.  Rocks and debris clattered into silence as they finally ground to a stop just as Jensen’s vision wavered and faded to black for the second time that day.

 

__________

 

 The dust was still clearing when Jensen groaned and twitched into wakefulness.  He heard a heavy thump nearby and saw the flicker of yellow fabric as his eyes struggled to focus.  It was the sound of Tommy’s body hitting the ground limp as a ragdoll, weighed down by the huge bags of cash strapped to his torso.  Jensen tilted his head to see the dead man’s body twitching listlessly as the chute was caught in the desert wind, the lines dragging his lifeless form across the rocks and sand.  Tommy’s eyes stared blankly into the fading sun without blinking and next to him the duffel bags’ contents spilled out of the burst open zipper into the sand. Tommy’s hands lay crumpled and limp among the loose bills that began to flutter away in the desert wind.

 

Jared’s body was pinned underneath Jensen’s and he was starting to move.  They rolled apart, both groaning in pain and disorientation.  Jared flipped onto his stomach, coughing and gasping for air as he pulled himself to his knees.  His tanned, muscular arms are decorated with a collection of cuts and deep gashes.  Blood ran bright and shiny over his dust-covered skin.

 

Jensen crawled onto his hands and knees and looked around, blinking wildly, trying to find balance in the haze of searing pain. It was so fucking surreal he couldn’t even believe he was alive and for a moment he just breathed deep and let himself feel.  The fresh cuts on his body a bright shimmer against the soul-deep ache of in his chest from his cracked ribs and the ever-present, siren-like throb of his decimated knee.  Jared staggered to his feet and grinned down at him.

 

“Wild ride, huh?” Jared said, hands on his knees, trying to get his bearings.

 

“Jesus Christ, Jared!”  Jensen shouted as he tried to stand.  As soon as he put pressure on his knee, his vision went white with agony.  He knew it was bad.  Experience told him that it was as bad, if not worse, than that day at the Rose Bowl.

 

 “That pesky knee, huh?”  Jared said, still out of breath, his tone unreadable.  “Too bad.”  He looked up at the horizon as the sound of an engine rumbled in the distance, growing closer. 

 

Jensen saw a plume of dust rising into the sky and in less than a minute an aging, tan Ford Bronco slid to a stop next to them in the loose, sandy gravel.  A familiar looking biker got out of the driver's seat and stood calmly with a sawed-off shotgun perched over his leather clad shoulder.  Jensen blinked through his sweat and pain, breath still burning in his lungs as he heard another door open and slam shut.  Suddenly, a petite figure was running toward him through the settling dust.

 

“Danni!”  Jensen fell onto his hands and knees again in relief, almost unable to believe she was really okay.  She knelt next to him and wrapped her arms around him.  They sobbed together in relief and amazement, unable to speak, just looking at one another and clinging together in the fading light.

 

The biker who had held Danni captive collected Tommy’s body, cutting away the chute lines with a serrated folding knife.  He hoisted the corpse onto his shoulder, money bags and all, and carried him to the back of the Bronco.  As he loaded the cargo inside, Jared limped to the driver’s side of the truck.  

 

“You had me worried there, for a second, Jen, but I’m glad things worked out.”  Jared’s face was pulled into a hard, graven expression.  His golden skin was marred with dirt and dried blood and his normally strong, proud body was folding in on itself, trembling with exertion and exhaustion.  His eyes met Jensen’s for a moment, obscured by the distance between them, but searching nonetheless. 

 

“Have a nice life,” Jared said, his lip curling in a strained, trembling smirk.  Jensen’s eyes filled with tears at the finality of Jared’s words.  He slammed them shut unable to look at Jared for one moment more as his eyes sparkled gold-green in the sunset, wet and precious on him for the last time. 

 

Jensen sobbed into Danni’s shoulder, ignoring the sounds of Jared’s biker friend crunching across the gravel to climb into the passenger seat and the angry growl of the Bronco as Jared gunned the engine. 

 

As the light shifted from orange to purple Jensen finally pulled away, ready to believe that Danni was real and safe in his arms.  He touched Danni’s face tenderly, leaving a smear of blood across her cheek.  

 

He gave her a wan version of his quarterback, homecoming king grin. “I’m so glad you’re okay, Danni.  I’m so sorry,” he finally choked out with his mouth against her cheek.  She slumped sobbing against him as he watched Jared go, the truck moving off in a heat-shimmered cloud of dust, becoming a mirage, then a memory.


	21. Florianópolis

Jensen sank his toes into the white, wet sand of Praia Mole, Brazil on a Tuesday the last week of January.  He breathed deep as he looked out over the turquoise blue water of the Atlantic.  It was summer in the southern hemisphere and as the brilliant, golden sun warmed his skin he wondered casually if he could avoid ever seeing a snowflake again. 

 

As Jensen sank back into the sand, he felt a calm wash over him, feeling almost centered for the first time in the better part of a year.  As his limbs connected with the earth beneath him, and the smell and sight of the sea filled him with renewed energy, he felt certain that Jared was in Brazil, too.  It was almost as if he could feel Jared’s energy surging up into him through the sand against his skin.  The imaginary silvery thread Jensen had always imagined connected him to Jared had never stopped quivering, silently tugging him along by the center of his chest.  At times the filament felt so strained, stretched so taut, that it threatened to snap and slice him in two.  In that moment on the beach it suddenly felt slack, like Jared was close.  Finally. 

 

It had been months since Jared left Jensen and Danni in a broken heap in the Mexican desert.  The anger and rage that had surged in Jensen so fiercely in those final days cooled to a smolder as he was swept back into the harsh realities of ‘life after Jared.’ 

 

Jensen was taken off the Turtles’ case and put on paid administrative leave so an investigation could be done.  In the end, the charges against him for his involvement in the Assured Trust robbery were dropped, but he never returned to the FBI.  Neither did Agent Beaver.  Jim spent his first few weeks of retirement recovering from his wounds in the hospital.  He had the distinct pleasure of having Agent Morgan personally pinning the FBI star he was awarded for sustaining serious injury in the direct line of duty to his hospital gown. 

 

Jensen started seeing Dr. McCutcheon twice a week and, once doctors assured him his knee didn’t need surgery, he started surfing again.  He went to physical therapy three times a week and Danni met him at the beach whenever she could before her shift at The Neptune.  They helped heal one another out on the waves, their bond stronger than ever, with a foundation of truth and honesty to hold their relationship together.  He lost himself a bit in her friendship until she decided to move up to Big Sur, taking a position as a surf instructor at a new age juvenile rehab facility called New Beginnings. 

 

Then, after a few weeks of sifting through his thoughts, rattling around LA like a square peg in a round hole, Jensen did something even crazier than jumping out of a plane without a parachute.  He went looking for Jared.

 

If anyone had asked Jensen to explain exactly what he was thinking traveling halfway across the world on a self-funded mission to find Jared Padalecki he wouldn’t have been able to answer in any coherent way.  The truth was that while soul searching had sent Jensen on this mission, he wasn’t sure what would happen if he ever managed to find Jared.  He was convinced that without some sort of closure he would never be able to get on with his life so he pressed forward anyway.  So, after getting Danni’s uneasy blessing and Dr. McCutcheon’s cell phone number to call in case of an emergency, he cashed in his tiny 401K, and bought a plane ticket.

 

Jensen tried Fiji first.  It was where Jared and his crew had planned to spend their winter before everything exploded.  He quickly discovered that Jared was a legend there, the locals knew him well, but it had been over a year since anyone had seen him last. 

 

Jensen wandered after that, trying Sydney, Tasmania, even Maui.  His savings account was drained and his credit cards were maxed out by the time he made it to Rio.  It was a bust too, just like all the other beaches had been.  Sometimes it seemed like he was chasing a ghost or a figment of his overactive imagination.  Fortunately, surf culture was surprisingly similar everywhere he landed and Jensen’s affable personality and good looks helped him find acceptance amongst tribes on every shore.  That membership of something bigger kept him fed, clothed, and riding the waves.  In reality, it was probably the only thing keeping him sane. 

 

Most mornings when Jensen woke up in a cheap hostel or under a boardwalk on a stolen towel, he experienced a brief moment of disorientation.  His identity had been so obscured and his journey had been so bizarre that pinning down who he was or why he was there sometimes took a moment, like a system reboot.  In the end it was the waves that always told him who he was and reminded him of his mission.  The sea – his mother, his lover, his bitch with a whip – she told him to keep going and promised to guide him. 

 

His story helped too, reminded him of who he had been.  He realized as he told it over and over, in front of fire pits and under starlit skies, how much that summer had changed him, forged him into something new.  The people he met seemed genuinely interested in helping him find the tall, tan, mystic that had blown apart everything Jensen knew about himself and about right and wrong.  Jensen knew Jared was chaos incarnate but he ached, heart and soul, to be at the eye of that storm again, even if he still carried his badge and handcuffs in his duffle bag.  They too were a reminder for him of where he came from and that sometimes the rules did matter. 

 

Brazil’s surf bums were more accommodating than any of the others he’d met.  They fed him rich, earthy black bean and pork stew, gave him fresh clothes, lent him a board, and took him under their roofs while he worked hard to keep his head together.  Broke and broken – mind, body, and soul – Brazil was Jensen’s last lead and his last real hope of getting the closure he so desperately needed.  He didn’t find any former friends of Jared’s in Rio but his new tribe quickly pointed him to the beaches on the east coast of the island of Florianópolis, about seven hundred miles south. 

 

It was rainy and stormy when he finally made it there after hitchhiking his way down the winding, coastal roads.  It was only a few weeks until Carnival and the time of year nasty tropical storms liked to batter the shoreline.  He remembered Jared talking about a storm, one that came only once every fifty years, one with monster waves, bigger than Jensen had ever seen.  If the locals were to be believed he had arrived just in time to see it.  Jensen had imagined looking out onto the once-blue sea to witness towering, grey beasts rushing inland, enormous like skyscrapers, like Godzilla, with the same roar and promising the same bite, and the storm ravishing Florianópolis did not disappoint. 

 

Jensen knew the dangers of surfing these waters, having read up on big wave surfing on one of his long trans-continental flights.  The surfers he watched fleeing the beach as he arrived were smart.  If you managed to surf those giants, a wave that huge would push you down into the inky depths when you hit the water, sometimes deep enough to burst your eardrums, with only a tiny window to make it back up for a breath before the next one crashed down above you.  Surfers that found themselves pinned by two or three of those waves didn’t make it back to shore.  You had to have a death wish to even try. 

 

Jensen knew, a death wish was exactly what Jared had.  He was chasing the dragon, the wave that would cement his legend as a surfer, the one that would take him to the other side in the arms of the only woman he ever truly loved.  “ _It’s not tragic to die doing what you love…_ ”  Jared’s voice echoed in Jensen’s mind as he watched the sea with fascinated dread.

 

He recognized Jared’s silhouette before he could make out fine details through the torrents of rain.  A few people were still clearing the beach but the tall, stock-still figure didn’t seem fazed by the roar of the storm.  His eyes were pinned to the shoreline, watching as it was pummeled by giant, grey-green waves, five stories tall, salt spray reaching into the sky in enormous, foamy plumes.  

 

As Jensen drew closer, he could see Jared’s hair was shorter, much lighter, and his sideburns were longer.  He wore a long, black and white patterned poncho that was positively drenched, cascading over his enormous shoulders like the robe of a Greek god.  His arms were crossed over his chest as he watched the horizon.  Jensen knew that look.  Jared was counting, measuring, timing, getting ready to dive in and take his last set.  There was a surfboard at Jared’s feet, longer and wider than anything he’d seen Jay surf on in Los Angeles, a board made for paddling speed.  He needed it to get out there, to reach the monsters, and keep up with them until one finally scooped him up to take him on his final ride. 

 

Jensen knew his own face was barely recognizable.  His jaw line was masked by ruddy, sandy-brown stubble.  His hair was much longer, trailing over the tips of his ears, streaked beach blonde by the sun and salt.  His body had changed too.  It was more like Jared’s now with muscular shoulders, a thin waist, and powerful legs.  His balance had improved even with the serious flare up in his knee injury.  Despite the physical therapy, he walked with a slight limp now.  Fortunately it was never an issue when he surfed.  Jensen had finally captured that fluid magic he always envied in Jared and Danni, finally made the ocean his mother too, a surrogate love holding together the pieces of his damaged psyche.

 

Jensen sucked in a deep breath and steeled his resolve.  His extremities were tingling, partially from the cold and partially from the nervous tension thrumming in his body.  He was afraid.  The last time he saw Jared, they had nearly died together and he couldn’t even begin to explain the insane journey he’d been on since then.  Jensen’s jean jacket, black t-shirt, and jeans were all soaked through completely by the time he built up enough courage to leave the boardwalk and join Jared on the wave ravaged beach. 

 

“I knew you’d come.  It seemed crazy to believe it but I knew…”  Jared said, voice booming over the storm.  He didn’t stop looking out at the waves. 

 

“Figured you wouldn’t miss the fifty year storm, Jay.  Been tryin’ to find you for a while now…” 

 

Jared turned to face Jensen, his hair pasted to his forehead in wet stripes as he smiled wide and squinted through the rain.  Jensen walked down to meet him, more on edge than he wanted to be but determined just the same.  Jared just kept smiling in that beautiful but unreadable way.  It could have been the wry grin of a man admiring the cunning of his opponent and calculating his next move or the relieved smile of a man who was tired of running and truly glad to see a familiar face.  When Jensen was close enough for their eyes to really meet through the torrents of rain, Jared looked back out over the ocean, his eyes a glittering sea green, shifting with the tide. 

 

“Shit went bad, I know that.  Real bad.”  Jared’s voice was dark, distant.  “I’m so sorry, Jensen.  I know there’s nothing I could say to make you believe me but it’s true.”

 

Jensen pulled his soaked jacket around himself, clearing his mind and focusing on Jared’s words.

 

“I tried to move on from what happened.  From you...  I almost turned myself in at one point.  I thought it might mean I would be able to see your face one more time.”  Jared laughed at his desperate confession.  The sound was choked, almost pained, like there were tears beneath his words that were threatening to reach the surface. 

 

“I know now I won’t ever forgive myself for what happened.  All those people I hurt.  Now you’re here and I know I was right to wait.  It’s perfect really,” Jared said as he turned to face Jensen.  “The fact I hurt you is what makes me hate myself the most.  You taught me so much.  I never understood how fucking empty my life really was until I lost you, Jen.  It was all just a fucking lie, my entire existence...”

 

There were tears streaming down Jared’s cheeks, mixing with the rain.  “It’s fitting you’re here to see me make my peace with the universe, you know?  You’re the last casualty of my fucked up life.  The last thing I touched that turned to ash...”  

 

The booming roar of the waves reached a crescendo, the sound from the ocean was so intense that it almost felt like the sand beneath them was quaking and shifting.  Jared wrapped his arms around himself and he stared back at the sea with reverence. 

 

“Time to dance with the universe,” he said, turning back to face Jensen.  He extended his hand and gently caressed Jensen’s wet, stubbled cheek.  “God, you’re so beautiful…”  Jared’s voice caught in his throat for a moment and Jensen used the pause to reach up, covering Jared’s hand with his own, cupping it against his face. 

 

“There were mornings I woke up after everything happened where I was sure I’d dreamed you.  It was the only explanation.  How could I ever have had something as perfect and good as you?”  Jared smiled again, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth and casting his eyes down.  “I’m so, _so_ , sorry, Jen.  I never wanted to hurt anyone, especially you...  I held such perfect beauty in my hands and I fucking spit on it.”  Jared shook his head and sobbed, pulling his hand away.

 

“Don’t do this Jared.  Come with me…” Jensen pleaded, reaching out and grabbing Jared’s bicep.

 

“I could never handle a jail cell, Jensen.  I know I don’t deserve your mercy but you’ll do this for me, won't you?” Jared sounded desperate and fear flickered in his eyes.  His face washed pale like a man who was just told he would never see the sun, sea, or sky again, a fate that, for someone like Jared, would be infinitely worse than death.

 

“No, Jay, you don’t understand.  I'm not FBI anymore.” Jensen reached out with his eyes, trying to exude forgiveness and hope. 

 

“You never were...” Jared quickly replied, a soft smile in his eyes.  Jensen clasped his hands over Jared’s shoulders, pulling them closer.  He had managed to get past the hurt and betrayal long ago but it didn’t mean he wasn’t confused and conflicted throughout his journey.  Now that he was standing there, next to Jared, and Jared was touching him again, the fear and uncertainty washed away.

 

“Jared, I didn’t come here to arrest you and I sure as fuck didn’t come here to watch you die.  Hasn’t there been enough of that?”  Jensen pleaded.  “I – it’s just…  There hasn’t been a day that’s gone by where I didn’t think of you.” 

 

Jared’s eyes were on his again, distant and thoughtful.  Jensen could see how resigned he was, how sure he was that he was going to die that day, that he deserved it.  Jensen shoved his hand in his pocket, took out the handcuffs he brought and chucked them blindly toward the shoreline.  He reached into the back of his jeans and pulled out the .45 he bought illegally when he was back in Rio, still scared and confused.  He palmed the weapon and rested it against Jared’s chest.

 

“I didn’t know what this would be, Jared.  I didn’t know if everything would explode and I’d take you down with this or if I’d be able to look at you the way I did before...  All I know is that my whole life I thought I wanted order, structure, truth – _fucking justice_ – but now I’m not sure what any of those concepts mean to me anymore.  It all sounds like someone else’s voice in my head now, like I’ve been erased, rewritten, copied over.  Like I’ve been living in someone else’s life, drugged with a bag over my head and I’m finally awake.” 

 

Another giant wave crashed into the beach and Jensen felt the tension in Jared’s muscles under his hands.  He was ready to bolt like a rabbit toward the sea, his eyes red and swimming, searching Jensen’s face. 

 

“Come with me, stop this crazy kamikaze bullshit.  I know you think this is penance or cosmic justice but...”  Jensen chucked the gun toward the water, gripping Jared’s shoulders with both hands.  “Jared, I don’t want to live in a world where you don’t exist.  I don’t want to live without you.  I am done feeling guilty about that.  I just want you… the good and the bad.”  Jensen held Jared’s gaze and felt his jaw quiver, he felt laid out and vulnerable but he was no longer afraid.

 

“Jen, too much has fucking happened, we’re too fucking broken…”  Jared was holding back sobs and vibrating under Jensen’s hands.  He finally pulled Jared to his chest, the larger man crumpling down against him. 

 

Jensen knew it was fucking insane.  He didn’t know Jared, not really, and Jared didn’t know him either.  It was all shadows and lies they had fed one another with tiny, fragmented glimpses of the truth peeking through.  But that passion, that fire that surged between them, it was igniting again, and Jensen wanted to let it engulf them both.  Engulf their former lives and their former selves, burn it all away so they could be reborn in the womb of the sea.

 

“Come with me, Jared.  All I’m asking is for you to try.  Work through all this pain with me and find some place…  Some beach somewhere neither of us has ever been.  Some place where we can start over.  Together.” 

 

Jared fell to his knees in the wet sand, pulling Jensen down with him.  The wind howled and the storm raged intensely around them as they huddled together, a quivering broken mass of confusion and need.  Then, it was like being in the center of a vacuum, the wind suddenly stilled and the rain started falling straight down instead of sideways.  They pulled apart slowly, both looking around in bewilderment. 

 

“The eye of the storm…”  Jared muttered as his eyes danced around, surveying the land, sea, and sky.

 

“Right here, right now, Jared.  Promise me.  It’s a fucking sign from whatever force brought here us together.  Please.  Just promise you’ll try.  This doesn’t have to be the end.  You saved my life, you didn’t ruin it.  You showed me my soul and I don’t want to let that go.” 

 

Jared’s hands trembled on either side of Jensen’s face as he spoke, his own hands clawing Jared’s chest in desperation.  He was out of words and the darkness seemed to be pressing in around them again, the waves still crashing like thunder despite the oddly alien calm in the storm’s center.  Jared bit his lip and nodded, eyes red and face tight, full of emotion.  Their mouths crashed together, tongues surging, more of a punch than a kiss but the electricity, the energy flowing between them was unmistakable.  They cried and kissed and fell to pieces together as the storm’s eye finally passed and the relative calm was erased by roaring torrents of wind and rain so hard it stung their skin. 

 

Jensen stood first, pulling Jared after him and they stumbled up the beach to look for shelter.  He knew the match had already been struck and that he could never go back.  Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki died on the beach that day.  Now it was a matter of finding out who they were together.  The giant waves pounded into the shore behind them and the sea rose, sucking Jared’s abandoned board into the grey, green soup of death.  It was smashed to pieces on the rocks but neither of them ever looked back. 


End file.
